


Trail of Crumbs

by CrimsonBinome



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Historical, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, people being shitty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17777438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonBinome/pseuds/CrimsonBinome
Summary: Betrothed to one man who didn't care for her and betrayed by another who she thought did, Lucy finally got away from the mess of the big city.Sarah was left to help David pick up the pieces after his failed engagement, cleaning up old messes that nobody else bothered to.In perpetual pursuit of a good story, Katherine kept taking one risky assignment after another until it landed her in a mess of trouble.And Marjana's just a mess herself.Turns out, life's tough no matter where you hide from it.***an attempt to write a story with multiple intertwining lives, where characters are human with flaws and issues and there's no such thing as love at first sight.***





	1. Lucy

**Author's Note:**

> I in no way own Newsies characters, the premise, or the anything else that's copyrighted. I'm just an OG fan that's still got plenty of angst to work through in the form of fanfiction. Any original characters have been in some sort of form of development for nearly 20 years now, so they may have popped up on other fan bases over the years and may sound familiar.
> 
> ***I do plan on exploring some messy themes that may be triggering. If you or someone you know are going through a difficult time, please know that you are not alone and that there are resources available to help. Call a friend. Call a hotline. Call. Talk. Don't lock it up inside. You are loved and you matter. Seriously.***

**Saturday, May 24, 1903 (Julian Calendar) /** **Saturday, June 6, 1903 (Gregorian Calendar)**

 

The breeze was warm and sweet. The ever-present smell of manure was no longer offensive, but comforting in a way - the cows were already out grazing in the fields, milked while the sun was still asleep. The summer heat was already setting in, making the very air itself feel like soup. If it weren't for the occasional stirring of air from Jamaica Bay to the south of the island, it would be next to impossible to breathe by noon. As it was, at least there would be some reprieve that the air at least moved.

 

Lucy watched as the men gathered by the tall barn, getting their tools and carts ready for a long day at the far end of the acreage, to plow the fields for planting the fall crops. She leaned against the rough wood corner of the barn, finishing her breakfast of a piece of bread with milk still warm from the cow in a clay mug. One of the men lit up a cigarette and it made Lucy’s hand itch with a faint memory of what it was like to hold one of her own. Before anyone noticed her there, hanging around like the spectre she resembled, she pushed off from the wall and headed back to the house to wash her mug and gather up the washing.

 

The Egorov farm was far enough from the growing city center in a rural bubble of its own. Flatlands was an area of Brooklyn that was still home to farmhouses and acres of open land where stock was raised to feed busy Manhattanites. Industry was quickly changing the face of New York and the city sprawled further and further out, swallowing up the natural makeup of the land. Whole neighborhoods popped up overnight, hills shaved down to flat lands and perfect grids of new streets were laid out where wildlife had ruled for millenia. The farm was on borrowed time, though for now it was still doing well enough to give the Egorovs a false sense of security - a growing city was a hungry city after all. All the milk and beef the farm could produce went straight to Manhattan's restaurateurs, while fresh produce, eggs, and cheeses sold well at market. Every busy season started off with the hope that there would be a next one and at least this summer was busy enough that Fyodor Mikhailovitch Egorov was able to hire on some extra men to help him and his boys manage the place.

  
The men moved out in the fields and their strong voices carried on the breeze as they sang a crass tune that set a pace for their toil in the pounding sun. Lucy stayed back by the barn, scraping the endless shirts, pants and socks against a glass washboard, her hands raw and swollen from the friction and the ice cold well water she had to use for the endeavor. At least today she had some help from two of the men’s wives.

  
  
“Fyodor and the boys are off to Hester Street today” one of the women remarked to the other, slapping a sheet around in her washtub “I hope they bring back some honey from the market” her name was Millie. She didn’t have a single sharp angle to her, nor a sharp thought most days. She was sweet enough though, but Lucy would bet a whole dollar that she wouldn’t be back next season.  
“We _have_ honey” Lucy pointed out, stretching where she knelt by the tub to give her screaming back some relief. She ran a wet hand over her head, smoothing down the frizzy flyaways of hair so snowy white that it made her look like an ancient crone.  
“Yes, we do.” Millie blushed, a little embarrassed, yet stuttered on “But the apiary that sells at Hester...theirs is better”  
“Don’t let the Missus hear you say that” Lucy warned gently, almost tired of reminding Millie to not speak out against the farm in any way. It was a good life there after all, Millie just hadn’t been prepared for how much work was actually expected of her.  
“Ain’t the honey that’s the problem” Gertrude piped up, grunting through a stubbornly stained set of overalls “it’s the Missus that makes everything bitter. One of her _looks_ and the honey curdles right up” She kept her voice low and dared to say this only because she knew the Egorov matriarch, Varvara Petrovna blissfully kept to the house in the mornings and wouldn’t hear them. The three women snorted reserved laughs at the too-accurate observation and kept scrubbing.  
“My Tony was sure glad it’s Yasha working the field with them today.” Millie continued, a placid smile on her face. She plopped right down to sit cross-legged by her washtub as she tackled a mountain of socks one by one. “He’s a nice one, that boy. It’s no good that Fyodor gives him such a hard time over everything”  
“I hear it’s because he left for the city a couple of years back. Took off in the middle of the night and lived on the streets like a beggar, skipping out on good, honest work” Gertrude sighed and sat back on her haunches for half a minute, trying to regain her patience with the damned overalls.  
“Oh, I hear the missus was _impossible_ for the two years he was gone and even worse the first year he came back” Millie tut-tutted, worrying a rumour that was actually fairly accurate.

 

Lucy said nothing, seemingly too busy wrestling another sheet to partake in the gossip. This is how things played out every summer for the past three years she’d lived there. The hired men and their wives would work hard and grow to become an extended family of sorts, though Mrs. Egorova would never let anyone not of her kin anywhere close to her heart. The new folk would get comfortable enough, become friendly with the neighbours and that’s when the rumours would start up again. Lucy was the only one that wasn’t family, who lived on the farm year-round, so the natural progression of things would be that the women would start prying, trying to slyly ease any facts out of her to address the rumours. She never gave in though.  
  
“Well, _I_ heard the Thompsons’ maid tell tale that he came running right back after a _brush_ with some high society girl.” Millie looked positively tickled to share this scandalous nugget of information. This is why Varvara didn’t like anyone going to the General Store or any of the shops nearby. She preferred her help go into the city proper, where it was far away enough that the rumours didn’t reach. “The girl’s father was trying to _disappear_ him for the scandal, but Yasha managed to get away and come right back home after all that mess”  
  
Gertrude arched an eyebrow at Millie, surprised by the candid revelation.  
  
“He ain’t like that and you know it, Millie” Lucy rolled her eyes and muttered with a little heat in her tone, her speech still thick with turns of phrase from another life. She finally had the sheet under control, but still didn’t look up as she spoke.  “D’you really think Yaroslav’s scum enough ta bail on a girl if he done that? Actually...d’you honestly think he’d even _get_ hisself in that sorta mess?” she cut Millie a look and got a small shrug in return, feigning ignorance.  
  
Gertrude caught Millie’s eye and darted a subtle, questioning look in Lucy’s direction. She kept any verbal comments to herself and decided to focus on her work instead.  
  
“No, Yasha’s the good one” Millie nodded, acknowledging what Gertrude was getting at “he’s too responsible, you’re right”

 

Lucy glanced up, her pale blue eyes taking in both women at once, a shadow of disappointment darkening her features. Too bad. She had hoped this conversation would take another week to come up. At least these women did their jobs well. Thankfully, they would only stay on until November. They were here to help - preparing produce for sale; packaging meat, dairy and eggs; washing and mending clothes; cooking and tending to their husbands to keep them from straying into town too often. There was simply no time or reason for any of these women to become her friends.

 

Now, how about that cigarette?

 

* * *

 

With the washing finally done, the three women dragged the tubs of wet things to clotheslines stretched out far away from the barn to get plenty of sun. After what seemed like a decade, Lucy’s arms were starting to grow tired from the repetitive motion - grab a shirt, throw it on the line, pin it; grab a pair of pants, do the same. It was peak season, which meant endless clothes to wash every morning for all the extra people taking up residence on the farm. Once the laundry was done, there would be mending to do, cleaning, cooking, and a slew of other chores that added up to a full day with barely a minute to sit.

 

“Nora, honey, you gotta keep outta the mud, sweet girl” Lucy looked over just in time to stop a pair of chubby small hands from wiping mud on a freshly-laundered towel. “Let’s go get you all cleaned up nice, away from the washin’, yeah?” Lucy ducked around a sheet that Gertrude had just put up, catching a chubby wrist and guiding her far away from where the washing dripped all over the dry ground, churning up a swell of thick mud that squelched around underfoot. Nora didn’t seem to be at all phased by the mess “Not that I don’ want none a your mudpies, sweetness, but Lucy an’ the other ladies, we done a lotta work this mornin, gettin’ them things all nice an’ clean, so I need ya to help me with this whole mud business” she spoke firmly, yet gently with the little girl. If Nora showed up to the main house with her pretty blue dress all messy, Lucy sure as hell knew who’d be the one actually getting in trouble.

“Loo-see?” Nora knit her pale eyebrows and scrunched up a little furrow on her forehead, so similar to Yasha that it was obvious they were related. Lucy helped her scrub her hands clean at the water pump, dousing Nora’s little fingers with ice cold water that made her giggle. “I hungy. Somefin a eat?”  
“Yes, sweetness, let’s get you some lunch” Lucy dried Nora’s hands with the apron she wore most of her waking hours and stood up taller, grateful that at least there was one human in her life that was shorter than her. She took her ward back to the main house where four pairs of eyes had been watching, scrutinizing her every move.  
“Varvara Petrovna. Anya, Tanya, Lena.” Lucy ducked her head with a show of respect for the matriarch and her three young nieces that got to live on the farm every summer. Nora was less aware of any hierarchy and clambered up the porch steps toward her mother, yanking on Lucy’s hand to come up too. “It’s ok, Nora, go to your mama” she encouraged, gently freeing her hand from the three-year-old’s vice-like grip.  
“Po _Russki_ ” Varvara reminded Lucy sharply, rolling the ‘r’ and clicking the ‘k’.  
Lucy licked her lips, trying not to be intimidated by Varvara, understanding full well she messed up. Nora was supposed to be speaking and hearing only her mother’s native tongue “Idi k mama” Lucy said again, earning herself a look of disappointment from Lena - damn, she didn’t conjugate properly again.

"Lusya, it's luchtime soon" Anya reminded Lucy, as if that wasn’t the whole point of her bringing Nora back to the house in the first place "Come on and clean up, both of you, before the men starve" for being only twelve, Anya was authoritative beyond her years.  
“Yes, miss Anya” Lucy nodded, keeping any snark to herself.  
“ _Po. Russki._ ” Varvara Petrovna’s voice cut hard and fast.

Lucy knew that she messed up and silently scrambled to remember the proper honorifics. “Da, gosh...pozha” She stumbled over the word, still getting the hang of the sounds.  
  
She could _seriously_ use a cigarette right about now. Even the smell of tobacco would do. The salty ocean air had done a good job of clearing Lucy’s lungs of the tobacco damage over the years she'd been there. However, the itch in her fingers, craving to hold a tightly-rolled cigarette and the sensation of inhaling the smoke, blowing it out slowly to let the clouds tumble out of her lips - _that_ particular craving was the harder hurdle to get over.  
She wasn't _going_ to smoke, no, but she could still want one.

  
While Anya entertained Nora on the porch, Lucy loaded up a cart with lunch for the men out in the field and pushed it down the wide dirt road that skirted the fields. Varvara Petrovna had chosen to follow along that day to check in on how work was progressing.  
“Nora said ‘horse’ today…” Lucy tried to strike up a conversation.  
Silence.  
“She also helped with the clothespins…” Lucy tried again  
Silence.  
“She…” Lucy caught herself when Varvara cut her with a look. Lucy was never quite sure of how to speak with Varvara Petrovna - even short, harmless quips about the weather or something adorable Nora did were met with an immediate scowl. Of course, she knew that she was a nobody on the farm - just a set of extra hands and working tits when Nora had been a baby and Varvara couldn't feed her herself. Obviously that was one of a very long list of the reasons why Varvara resented her.

  


* * *

  


Gathered around the cart, the men shared a simple lunch of bread and homemade cheese - workers and family alike. Lucy walked around with a large clay jug of cold well water, refilling everyone's tin cups. She made sure that everyone had their share before finally looking for a seat to rest for a brief moment.  
“Hey” she smiled gently at Yaroslav when she discovered the only free spot was next to him. Probably a bad idea, given Varvara Petrovna’s mood today. Lucy sat down next to Yaroslav and offered him a bowl of crisp, fresh apple slices. Everyone chatted idly about work and the endless rocks out in the far field. All this earned her another stern look from Varvara Petrovna. She’d given Lucy a talking-to about slicing the apples like that, but Lucy wasn’t going to stop. For reasons unbeknownst to her, she knew that Yaroslav preferred them this way. Hey, for what he did for her, the least she could do was slice apples to show her gratitude.

 

"Lusya, Kofe" Varvara gestured when the men were done eating and lighting up their cigarettes in order to savor the last few minutes of their reprieve from work. The smell washed over Lucy, soothing her somewhat, though the itch returned to her hand twice as bad and she kind of wished she was anywhere else but here at the moment.

"Ma, she ain't a maid, how many times we gotta talk about this?" Yaroslav gave his mother a sharp look and got up to help Lucy set out tin mugs for her to pour pitch black coffee into. His accent was quite faint, punctuated by the same speech patterns that Lucy had picked up during her time on the streets of Manhattan.

"Yasha, sit." His mother instructed firmly, her accent thick and sometimes hard to understand whenever she got flustered. "Is _her_ work, like field is _you_." she had no issue with reminding both of them of their place, in case they ever forgot.

Yaroslav bristled and grumbled something in Russian under his breath, still firmly planted by Lucy's side.

 

"It's alright, Jake" Lucy glanced up at him, speaking softly, a sincere apology in her eyes "she's right". She could feel Jake bristle even more when she sided with Varvara, but couldn’t do a thing. "You rest. Here, take the coffee" she pressed a mug into his broad hand and slipped away to distribute the drink to a few of the others. His fingers had brushed hers ever so briefly and Lucy pulled away faster than either of them could realize what had happened. Somehow this made her fingers itch even more, the smoke from the workers making her mouth run dry from the craving.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, after Nora had been put to bed and all the chores were wrapped up, Lucy sat on the stoop of her tiny clapboard cabin, the one on the far end of the row of similarly tiny cabins that were on the property for the hired help. These were meant to be habitable only through the warmer seasons, but Lucy had managed to survive in hers for three winters in a row now. It was the only shred of freedom that she was granted by the Egorovs and she was pretty sure her luck had been simply because they didn't want her anywhere under the same roof as Yaroslav. To her he would always be ‘Jake’, the newspaper boy that gave her a second chance at life.

 

Lucy had been studying the stars and the moon that was getting so close to full. Another two nights and it would bathe the fields with all its pale glory. The slam of the kitchen door pulled her out of her reverie. Jake was saying something in Russian to his mother, exasperated by whatever disagreement they had in the kitchen. Another slam and Fyodor Mikhailovitch followed his son and wife out to the porch. Lucy shifted into the shadows of her stoop, trying hard to hear and understand what they were saying. Just because she couldn't speak a word of the language, didn't meant she didn't pick any of it up over the years. She could understand just enough to have it as an ace up her sleeve.

 

"Nyet!" Fyodor said with a finality that made Jake stop, rooted to his spot on the porch. His voice was too low to make out individual words, though it really sounded to Lucy like they were speaking about courtship and marriage. It sounded like Jake wasn’t ready for the inevitable. A few more exchanged words, and Jake stormed off, leaving his parents to speak among themselves as they headed back inside the house.

 

"Hey you" she spoke in the direction of the crunch of the gravel coming around the side of her cabin a few minutes later. She knew Jake by the sound of his footsteps and the strong scent of soap that always followed him after he was done in the fields. For a farm boy he was the cleanest person she'd ever met. "Everything alright?" she wasn't going to hide the fact that she had heard something. Jake always seemed to know when she was lying.

"Doesn't matter" he mumbled and sat down heavily on the stoop next to her. "It's not a big deal, just a misunderstanding" he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, giving away his tell. Jake only smoked when particularly aggravated. Lucy's fingers twitched involuntarily, lightly twisting the fabric of her skirt, tempted to just reach out and pluck the cigarette from his mouth. She sucked in her bottom lip, trying to push the craving away, but Jake was a few steps ahead already - he pulled out another cigarette and silently offered it to her. Surprising even himself, he leaned in and pressed the end of his own glowing smoke to the unsullied one that she had taken. Their faces lit up momentarily with the faint orange light of the embers and Lucy realized that he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

 

"I'm sorry" she pulled back as soon as she could taste the tobacco burning on her tongue "It ain't fair to you, whatever they're doing. You work so hard, you deserve a little leniency."  
"Yeah, well...Ain't about that, Luce. It's fam'ly first and...they're real picky about who gets ta be fam'ly" he sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the night sky.  
"I'm sorry" she echoed again, sad on his behalf that he couldn't just do what _he_ wanted. Jake deserved to be happy. He was one of those few people that was just genuinely _good_ and there was absolutely no reason to deny him a sliver of his own joy in the world. "So...who's the unlucky girl who doesn't get you because she ain't good enough?"  
Jake snorted a bitter laugh and took another drag of his cigarette.  
The reply was muffled by the thick cloud of smoke he exhaled through his mouth and nose all at once "You."

 

 


	2. Sarah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the same day back in Manhattan, a certain Sarah Jacobs has a slightly different perspective.

**Saturday** **, June 6, 1903**

The third-floor suite was a definite upgrade from the cramped tenement that offered hardly more than a view of a brick wall. Even with the hustle and bustle that echoed up from the street below, it had been surprisingly easy to get used to these new accommodations. Some mornings, Sarah still woke up, marveling at just how much air a bedroom could have when it was her own private chamber. Within the first week, she had forgotten entirely what it had been like to share her space with her two brothers. Within the first month, she had fully adapted to her new status. So what if she was considered an old maid by some standards? She was particular and was glad that her family supported her by allowing her to have final say over exactly what she did with her life. For the time being, Sarah was beyond content to work on behalf of the the Children's Aid Society. She didn't see it as a socialite's folly, like so many would be quick to assume. No, there had been a time, several years back, when boys and girls so very much like the kids she worked with now, had changed the course of history. Sarah had been right in the thick of things then and she did everything she could to do her part since. The difference was that now, she wasn't like the rest of these unfortunates. She got out. By stupid, tragic, sheer luck, she got out. The whole family did.

 

Sarah lay in bed for a few extra glorious moments, enjoying the warm sunshine dancing through the open curtains. There was a breeze blowing from the Hudson, pleasant despite its promise of heating up by the afternoon. Some days Sarah was convinced she could smell the weather changing and today was no different. By mid-afternoon, the heat would be stifling, she knew. Perhaps a cotton dress would do. At least she wouldn't have to leave the building today, if she didn't want to. She strained her ears and could tell that Esther was in the parlor, most likely mending clothes already. Old habits died hard for their mother, for she still insisted on taking her husband's old clothes to restitch them to fit Les. Les was probably out selling newspapers, still just young enough to blend in with other newsboys even if his recent growth spurt was doing him few favors. At fourteen, he shot up overnight, his whole body stretching to become gangly and awkward in ways that nobody was prepared for. Their older brother David was Les' only consolation - he had been gangly and unsteady on his feet at around the same age as well, but now he had grown into his frame rather well. David was guaranteed to be downstairs, judging by the sound of the bell tinkling every time the clinic door opened down on street level. The clear, silvery sound cut right through the clamor of busy thoroughfare, telling Sarah that David was already elbow-deep in appointments, despite it being Shabbat. David did always seem to care more about his patients rather than the strict rules of their parents' traditions.

 

By the time she had dressed, pinned up her hair and joined her mother in the other room for a bite of late breakfast, it was nearing the hour to bring David his lunch. The tray was all arranged in the kitchen, complete with a plate of chicken, potatoes and sauerkraut, a piping mug of black coffee, and a slice of Esther's chocolate cake. The maid was just about to put the whole lot into the dumbwaiter when Sarah entered the kitchen.  
"I'll serve him today, Gertie" she helped the maid with the mechanism, even though she really wasn't expected to do this by anyone other than herself. It wasn't right for a lady of Sarah's status to be doing such menial chores. Gertrude was always quick to remind the Jacobs women about the fact that their actions we sometimes incorrect for the tier of polite society they now occupied.

Downstairs, Sarah unlocked the decorative wood paneling on the door of the dumbwaiter. It was designed to come down right into the office of the head physician. David insisted that he didn't feel right claiming this room, seeing as he was still so young, despite the fact that it was his name on the door out front. Still, it was the only place he could ever get some privacy to eat, so at least Sarah was able to coax him to sit behind the heavy mahogany desk once a day with expertly crafted meals. He was getting better about it too - today he walked right in and plopped into the chair before picking up a slice of fresh rye bread and munching on it absently.

 

"You know…" Sarah cleared her throat and took a seat opposite her brother in a chair meant for patients. "...if you want people to take you seriously and not make you run around like some nursemaid in your own practice, you really _should_ consider using this space more than just as a glorified dining room." She laced her fingers, elbows resting on the carved wood arms of the chair.  
"Not today, Sar...just…" David exhaled sharply through his nose, tossed the bread back on the tray and pulled his chair in closer to the desk to tuck into the potatoes before they got cold. "...not today, alright?"  
"What's today?" Sarah knit her eyebrows, her gaze snapping back to her brother from wandering around the room. It was a proper office indeed - wood paneling, a built-in bookshelf taking up the entire wall, filled with all sorts of medical texts and paperwork, the painting of their family that now hung behind David where the portrait of a pretty white-haired girl had hung until very recently. He finally decided to replace that painting after all, Sarah noted.  
"Oh…" it dawned on her when her train of thought went down that path. She had genuinely forgotten the significance of the date.  
"Look, I know what you're gonna say…" David meticulously sliced up the chicken and popped a bite into his mouth  
"...it's been three years, David." Sarah cocked her head to the side, watching his face for a reaction "three  _years_. It's got the best end of the deal here so just accept it for what it is and finally let yourself move on"  
"I'm too busy, Sar, you know that" He brushed her off before taking another bite "I've got three patients scheduled for this afternoon, inventory that needs cataloging, a kid that came in off the street needing stitches and Mush isn't scheduled to come in until an hour from now." He was eating quickly, practically scarfing down his meal so he could get back to work as quickly as possible.

 

There was a time that David hated the clinic. It was work and it brought much better money than any other job David had picked up back in the day, but it came with the expectation that he had to earn his place in it by marrying the doctor's daughter. Sarah remembered it clearly - all those times David nearly quit the clinic because something about the arrangement rubbed him the wrong way. The girl had been a decent match, pretty enough with a preference for books instead of people, much like David and an entire medical practice as her dowry. But it had been pre-arranged, so David resented the whole of it. Even now, years later, Sarah knew that it bothered him, just thinking about all that mess.

"All I'm saying is that it's about time you move on. The clinic won't burn down if you step away for an afternoon and enjoy yourself in the company of someone who might actually care about you." Sarah leaned back in her chair and narrowed her eyes, studying her brother's mannerisms to try and get a read on him.  
"I don't have time" David repeated and pierced a potato and a piece of chicken with his fork in one smooth movement. Ever since that unfortunate turn of events three years back, Sarah had taken it upon herself to ensure her big brother's romantic life. David didn't like that, but he wasn't given much of a choice, so he was left pushing her ideas aside under the guise of being too busy with his new practice "And even if I did, I don't have anyone to do that with"  
Sarah rolled her eyes at how difficult David was being and shrugged "What about Katherine?" she threw out the first name that popped into her head.  
"What about her?" David looked up from his meal, his eyes darkening in response to his sister's ludicrous idea "She's too busy being a real journalist...and besides, she's Jack's"

Sarah stared at David, completely baffled that he dared go there "She's not. Just like I never really was" she reminded him that there had been a brief fling between herself and David's best friend back then. It made David cringe every time, which helped drive the point home "She was always too good for him. You, however? Smart, successful, with means...those are all traits that could sway a woman like Katherine in your favor"  
"But... _Jack_ …" David tried to push back weakly  
"You really have to stop defining the women in your life by what men they were attached to at one point or another" Sarah frowned and pushed to her feet. "That goes both ways too...Katherine isn't Jack's anymore than that horrid cheating scum of an ex-fiancée isn't yours. She never was. So stop dwelling on a doomed engagement that just wasn't meant to be and try again with someone that could make you legitimately happy"  
"She wasn't scum" she heard David mutter under his breath, but chose not to pay it any mind.

"I'll make you a deal" Sarah had walked around to David's side of the desk and towered over him, arms crossed, while he sat, dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin "I help around the clinic and I even look over the inventory, you know I'm much better with keeping records than you are. I help and you send a note to Katherine. Don't even have to talk to her in person, just a simple note will do. As for me, maybe I'll help track down where the laudanum keeps getting to."

"Fine." David threw his hands up in surrender, frustrated enough by Sarah's insistence that he was willing to do whatever, as long as it made her go away. "Fine, go ahead and help" he waved his hand dismissively before reaching into his desk drawer for a notepad and a pen.

Before David could write a decent note though, a commotion in the reception area brought both siblings running out of the office. A young man was at the desk, demanding that he get to see David despite the lineup of patients. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair in frustration, knocking his leather eyepatch lopsided momentarily. He fixed it just as quickly and trained his good eye on the attendant. Sarah immediately recognized him, despite the fact that the past three years had brought him a lot of change. No longer was he the lanky teen drowning in layers of oversized shirts and hiding behind his patch. He looked every bit the dashing rogue that Sarah had the very unfortunate opportunity of knowing him as. The shadow of blonde scruff on his jaw aged him even more, complimenting the mildly haggard look he sported. She would never dare to classify Blink Baletti as handsome, because admitting that was the first step toward showing weakness in the face of his charms. Sarah knew better. Blink, as sweet as he could be, could just as easily bring a whole world of hurt crashing down around them. It had taken three years to recover from the last time and Sarah had absolutely no desire to deal with whatever mess he'd be dragging them into now.

"What's the problem?" She walked briskly toward the visitor and measured him with a withering look. "You know you're not welcome here, Blink" the ban was very well known to him and to their mutual friends. Even Mush, his best friend in the whole world, knew he couldn't ask Blink to come around the clinic, even to pick him up after work for a night out.

"I get it, I do" Blink spun around to catch sight of both siblings, his hands up, caught off-guard "I'm gonna keep apologizin' fer the rest a my life, I know it, but I needs yer help real bad." Sarah wanted to turn Blink away then and there, just as she should have done all those years ago, before things turned sour for everyone. The fact that he even dared show his face at the clinic after what he'd done suggested he really _was_ that desperate for help though.

"I gotta find 'er..." Blink rambled on, making brother and sister exchange a look."...her an'...that kid of ours…"

Sarah glanced over at her brother, who was battling with several reactions at once. He clearly had no idea what Blink was talking about. "What. Kid?" She demanded evenly, clipping off at every word. She had guessed, of course and now the truth was coming out. This was definitely a case of 'better never, than late'. David really didn't need this mess dredged up. Especially not today, on what would have been his wedding anniversary.

"I um..." Blink suddenly found the brim of his cap intensely interesting, his sharp blue eye dropping to study every thread in close detail. "...I've had a few visitors, a few news an'...i dunno if there even is a kid...wid' her I mean...I know there's others. Three others...so, I gotta find 'er just to make sure. I wouldn'ta thought to come here an' stir up bad blood again, but I'm outta ideas. Figgered you mighta heard from her since" he shrugged, looking as apologetic and lost as he sounded. It was obvious that all the years of escapades and flings caught up to him in a matter of days and now he found himself having to step up. Sarah had always thought karma would have her revenge in the end and it seemed like she finally got her wish.

"Get in" to Sarah's surprise, David answered with a cold edge to his tone that she hadn't heard more than a handful of times. He was gesturing to the office. "I don't need you running your mouth out here." She stepped aside as Blink stalked into the room and David followed. "Deal with the waiting room, Sar" was all he deemed to say before he closed the door in her face.


	3. Marjana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different

**Saturday, June 6, 1903**

 

It was the crow's fault, really. It pecked at the ladybug and ate it without giving the poor thing a chance to figure out it was even in danger to begin with. One moment, it was scurrying up the windowsill, helping itself out by vibrating its tiny wings, holding on to the wood against the morning breeze; the next - it was gone. A little smear left behind where the crow had crushed it with its cruel beak.

It was poetic in a way.

Or ironic.

Or a simile.

One of those.

 

Albert's books would use a fancy word to describe it all properly. There was probably even a German word a mile long that perfectly encompassed the concept that the ladybug was just a girl off the street, who had only recently been able to afford shoes; and the crow was the soul wrenching ominous doom that could strike at any given moment.  
It was the crow's fault, really. It was a living reminder that no matter how much she fought, crawled, and clawed her way up the vertical of her crumbling sanity, a single cruel whisper from the depths of her traitorous brain would be the end of her. Again. And again. And again. Over and over. Merciless.

  
It was the crow's fault.  
Really.

If it hadn't shown up, it would have been a good day. Maybe.  
Before it showed up, it was Saturday, a day when Albert visited. He would come with one of his books, smelling of ink and paper and sweat and soap and home. He would bring a daisy. And he would read out loud in the garden until it got too dark.

His voice always dropped a touch when he read, savoring the words as they formed on his tongue and escaped his lips. Sometimes, when he read about a feast in a fairy tale, his words had  _flavour_  and  _texture_  - crunching, crisp, hearty, sweet. It helped remember a world from the before time. A world that still existed beyond the river in brownstones and distribution offices, cafes and lodging houses. At Tibby's and Jacobi's and Yin's dumpling house. At Irving Hall. At the Purple Palace. At the Refuge.

The Refuge.

 _Refuge_.

Another fancy word.

A fancy lie.

There was no refuge in that goddamn hellhole.  


It was the crow's fault.  
Really.  
Before it showed up, it was a quiet morning. But when it decided to peck the ladybug, the only sensible thing to do was to scold it. The kindly ladies that watched over their ailing flock didn't agree, of course.  
This was important.  
Someone  _had_  to tell the crow that he was being a right, proper _cock_.   
Truly, he  _was_.   
The ladybug just wanted to see the sky up close. Who could blame her? It was such a pretty shade of blue that day.  


The kindly ladies that were supposed to be making her better, didn't like her language. The truth of it was, what they really didn't like was being interrupted from their cards.   
The old one, the one with the lazy eye, she liked to up the ante with bonbons. They very much like the ones Albert brought every Saturday in a small paper bag, one that also carried the faint smell of ink and paper and sweat and soap and home.   
They were very good, those bonbons, particularly the lemon ones that tasted oh so fresh. They just disappeared too quickly. Overnight, in fact. It was the hunger, probably. She didn't remember having them all, but after every visit, they would be there when he left and be gone the next morning. So she had to have been eating them.

The kindly ladies, their cards dropped and forgotten on the table at the back of the room, well...they had very _un_ kind hands. Hands that grabbed and pinched and scratched and were stronger than they had any right to be. Hands that shoved soap to clean out that filthy mouth. Hands that refused to let go even when told very clearly that it was the  _crow_ , who needed to be reprimanded.

Breakfast was soapy.  
Soapy hiccups washed down with cloudy tea.  
Toast and beans. Definitely not like the beans at Tibby's, that had been sweet, saucy and rich. Enough to go two days on. These ones were dried out and cracked. They'd probably never even heard of gravy. It was best not to tell these beans about gravy or they'd become even more sad. Sad beans made for a sad stomach.  
Maybe Albert would bring a sandwich. Sometimes they let him.  


Just a few more hours. Then it would all be okay.

Unless Albert wouldn't show.

He always showed.

But what if this time, he wouldn't?

 

She had told him to stop coming, to remember her with a daisy in her hand and a smirk on her lips. He had said he'd never forget the purple scarf she liked to tie her hair up with when she pulled out a worn deck of cards to sell rubes their fortunes. Too bad she couldn't see her own. Too bad she couldn't see the crow until it was too big, its thunderous wings eclipsing even the brightest, nicest thing Albert had ever done. He had gifted her a swarm of beautiful kisses, each one more rare than the next. They fluttered through her and made her heart glow, caressing it with their delicate, bright wings. Even now, when she had nothing save for a cot, a hay-stuffed pillow, and a threadbare gown that did little to warm her fading body, she could still proudly hoard those kisses, wrapping her whole essence around them.  But the crow pecked and pecked, tugging at them out of her grasp until it shredded every single one, leaving her with a handful of mangled, twitchy confetti.

If he didn't show, it would be a good thing. He wouldn't have to hide his sadness with a smile or try and kill time by reading to her. He wouldn't have to pretend not to notice what the unkindly hands did. He wouldn't have to pretend to recognize the mask she wore for him, because the mask was old, the features faded, chipped and broken in places. She tried her best to give him the face he so liked. Too bad, that beneath the mask was an inky, sticky darkness that seemed to get into every nook and cranny, and was impossible to fully scrub away. Or cut away. Or burn away. Too bad, that even _he_ couldn't really look at the mask anymore, because he just couldn't seem to stand the sight of it.

She couldn't find the mask. The crow must have taken it when he ate the ladybug. The darkness spilled out, spreading its sticky tendrils. It got into her eyes and choked down her throat. It curled inside her chest, contracting her rib cage, crushing it in on itself. It squeezed her lungs until she couldn't take a single full breath. It shackled her hands and feet, sticking to the metal cuffs that the unkindly hands had clamped over her wrists and ankles.

 

Sometimes, if she screamed loud enough, the sticky darkness would pause before redoubling its efforts.  
Sometimes, if she screamed loud enough, the sound shattered the shackles.  
Sometimes, if she screamed loud enough, the orderly shut her up.  
He had a very heavy backhand.  
The darkness stuck to his knuckles, when he pulled away.  
Sometimes, despite the orderly and the shackles and the sticky darkness, if she screamed loud enough, it all went away for a while. A small sting in her neck. A venomous whisper. And the darkness would suck its tentacles back. And everything would go...soft.

 

Just before dinner of crow and ladybugs and rats and wriggly worms, a gentle voice called her by a name that sounded right coming only from him.  
"Hey, Poppy." His smile appeared, smelling of ink and paper and sweat and soap and home "I hope you're hungry, I managed to sneak in a pastrami on rye. Mr. Jacobi made it fresh, just for you, sweetheart."

No wriggly worms tonight, after all.

"There's a new story by Jules Verne that I found. You haven't heard this one before" his voice continued just at the edge of the ragged softness. It wasn't too dark yet. Still enough time for an adventure. But something held her back when she tried to move. When did the sticky darkness manage to grab hold of her arms and legs? The darkness liked the struggle, pulling tighter and holding fast, tendrils coming back to crawl over her and squeeze her chest tight, forcing out a tiny whimper.

"It's okay, we can just sit here. It's too hot in the garden." The smile was still there, strong and unwavering, as if carved out of a fine marble. It's too hot and the cuffs are glued shut.

 

Just before he opened the book, his fingers reached out to pass over the mask. It's an old one she managed to dig up right in the nick of time. The features were beyond faded and the surface was covered in a broken spiderweb, but it was better than nothing. The darkness pulled back, afraid of his touch.

His lips brushed over the part in her tangled hair. The darkness receded deeper, hiding in her belly.

Before long, he was working through her matted tresses with a small bone comb he carried for that very reason. The darkness churned in her stomach, but didn't try and stick to him.  


"I missed you" a dry, papery rustle, not unlike ladybug wings, slipped out and woke up his smile.  
"I missed you too" his fingers worked a stubborn clump of hair loose.  
"It hurts" not the hair, but the darkness that chomps away from the inside, trying to rip its way back out.  
"I know. Davey sent something that'll help" his fingers kept going through her hair until the orderly got bored and wandered away. Probably to find a card game.  
  
A pop of a cork.  
A sharp floral smell.  
"Here, love" he touched a finger to her lips and the taste seared her brain. The taste of a brief promise of respite mixed with that of ink and paper and sweat and soap and home, of his distaste to have to do this. It was the only way to put her demons to sleep. "That's all could get" he sounded so sad. So apologetic that he couldn't bring more of the poison. She tried to hug him, but the cuffs were too heavy. Her wings were broken. Tired. The lazy eye with the lemon drops gambled them away a year back. Pretty wings they'd been. Purple.

It took but a few moments and everything went still. The crow stopped pecking. The worms stopped wriggling.  The darkness curled up, purring, sated for a time.  
"Thank you" she hoped she said that out loud. Sometimes she forgot to actually say things out loud and they got stuck in her head instead.  
"You're welcome, sweetheart" oh good, so he had heard. By now, he probably got good at hearing her thoughts. Or her thoughts got loud enough for him to hear.  
"Can you please read to me now?"  
"Yeah, Poppy"

 

It was the crow's fault, really.  
Before it showed up she would have been able to walk to the garden on her own. Maybe even meet him there and help him see that not all was lost. As it was, she had to take his arm, clinging to it because her feet were the wrong size to walk right. The wrong size and sticky, covered in the inky blackness that seemed to try and spill onto the grass. At least the tendrils had let go of her wrists and ankles for the most part. The garden was indeed hot and the breeze carried a sweetness to it, but they risked it anyway.  
Despite all her nonsense, his voice picked up the story, dropping a touch like it always did. He painted the most fantastical pictures of flying balloons and automatons, the images so vivid that she could almost smell them mingling with his scents of ink and paper and sweat and soap. There was something else to him too, a very distinct thing that she just couldn't quite remember. He read until it grew too dark to see the pages and then kept going. He was so warm, and so _there,_  keeping her safe.

"I'll see you next week, sweetheart. Only a few sleeps and we'll finish this story, alright?" he sometimes got this warble in his voice. His throat was probably dry from all that reading.  
"Seven sleeps" she had to count it on her fingers. For some reason, it was always seven. It never changed.  
"Seven sleeps" his voice echoed with gentle assurance, reverberating through the night fog rolling in thick and shimmering. Purple.  
His hands were strong and truly kind. The definition of kind. Everything that the nurse's hands weren't "Let's get you back to bed" the hands pulled her to her feet, then scooped her right up because the feet weren't there. She forgot them again.  
He walked back to the room with the crow window, holding her tightly, while she listened to his heartbeat.   


"Good night, Skitts" she murmured as he lowered her back on her cot.  
With a soft 'goodbye', he fluttered a light kiss to her cheek and brushed her hair back, tamed for a time. Up close again, her senses tried to figure out what it was she was missing out of the ink and paper and sweat and soap. She forgot the last one. How could she forget it? What was it again?   
Oh right...Home.


	4. Katherine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plucky journalist and her editor try to liven up a stretch of boredom.

**Friday, June 5th, 1903**

 

“Miss Plumber?” Bryan Denton, editor-in-chief of the New York Sun, walked out of his office and headed to Katherine’s desk in the bullpen, still reading the afternoon edition without looking up. It was late enough that he had his shirtsleeves rolled up, though his signature bowtie was still firmly perched at his throat. It was far too hot for a jacket after yet another daytime heatwave, so he’d kept it off since lunch.

 

Katherine looked over her notes, trying to figure out which story to focus on - the workmen’s strike had some sensational numbers to quote and _did_ greatly affect the city. Katherine was a seasoned veteran when it came to writing about strikes by now. She could attempt to muck around with a story about the Czar and his advisors, though she really didn’t have enough material to write something that would be up to her personal high standards. Then there were the endless scandals of women wronged and men up to no good, nothing of too much interest. Well, there _was_ the one story about a woman shooting her own groom with a double barrel after being forced into a marriage she wanted no part of. _That_ one could make for a fun quick write later on, if nothing else struck her fancy. For the fifth time that week Katherine considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she was bored with her job.

Boredom was usually her greatest motivator, that would push her to track down a story obscure enough to keep her interest, or she’d go out of her way to make something interesting happen. She’d done it before and she’d do it again now, it was only a matter of shifting her perspective.

  


“Why are you still here?” Denton asked, still not looking up from the paper. He finally stopped at Katherine’s desk and looked her over as he closed and folded his newspaper with a faint sigh. “Same thing over and over again, isn’t it, Miss Plumber?” he asked, dropping the paper on her desk, his shoulders slumping ever so faintly.

  
“Exactly” Katherine picked up the edition and scanned the front page. There wasn’t really anything particularly important even above the fold. Boring. “I’m here because…” she shrugged, still perusing the paper “...I suppose because this is the only place for me to be today”   
“Fair, but what would your father say about you wasting your youth at a rival newspaper?”  Denton helped himself to a seat on the corner of her desk and casually folded his arms on one raised knee. He didn’t mean anything negative by the question, Katherine knew this. He was concerned, sure, and he probably had the right to be. Unfortunately, even the most sincere concern was lost on her because Denton’s bowtie was the most distracting yellow and green pattern that day.

  
“My father would prefer I not get myself involved with any newspaper _ever_ , so I’m not particularly interested in his opinion on the matter” she said with a tired smile. A bored smile. Katherine was bored with the age-old struggle between her and her father. At first, he wanted her married off, so she started writing for The Sun in secret. After she proved herself with that little story about the newsboys’ strike, her father offered her a job at his own publication. Naturally - she refused. Now, when she was dangerously on the precipice of spinsterhood, her father had doubled his efforts at finding her a suitable match. This meant another dinner hosted at the Pulitzer estate with yet another sniveling rich snob who had less actual character than three hairs on Jack Kelly’s head.   
She took a short, sharp inhale through her nose, scolding herself for mentally going down _that_ particular rabbit hole. Jack was still very much a raw wound that she preferred not to press. Her father, thrilled that his daughter and the street kid were no longer an item, still kept Jack on as a chief illustrator, which didn’t help. In that was the answer to the question of why she chose to remain working with the New York Sun under Bryan Denton (editor extraordinaire), instead of taking a much more stable and financially superior position at her father’s own New York World. Denton had a taste for original stories and a hunger to make a difference - a philosophy that Katherine herself was very much drawn to. “I’m supposed to dine with yet another pompous heir to some sort of textile or brick empire, so I’m trying to avoid going home for as long as I can”   
  
Denton gave her a wry smirk and drummed his fingers on his leg as he so often did when he was thinking. “You know…” he paused to mull over what he was about to suggest. He knew that Katherine would latch onto the idea immediately. Her turning down a story was never a concern. It was the sure guarantee that she would do it, that worried him. He had never met a woman so stubborn and careless about her own safety if a good story was involved. No, that’s not quite true, there was _one_ woman nearly two decades back, who Denton knew professionally. Katherine was very much like her. “...I could send you on an assignment. An in-depth, firsthand account of one of New York’s less, you could say... _notorious_ ...establishments”   
  
Katherine’s eyes flashed curiosity, mirroring Denton’s own reserved excitement. He didn’t want to endanger one of his hardest working reporters, but he could also sense that agitation in her that only a daring assignment could do the trick of placating her for a time.   
“Notorious? What did you have in mind exactly?” Katherine cocked her head, leaning back in her seat as if to get a better look at the man perched on her desk. “I don’t think my father would be thrilled if you had me do a review of a place like the Purple Palace or something”

 

Denton smirked and shook his head “no, Miss Plumber, no opium dens...although it might not be the worst idea to consider for another time.” of course, an opium den was a terrible idea - Katherine’s father would have Denton’s head and career, if he sent Katherine to investigate a place like that. But if absolutely forbade her from the subject now, he knew that would just further encourage her to pursue the story later.  
“I was thinking more along the lines of The Octagon?”   
  
Katherine furrowed her brow and made a faint sound of wary curiosity  “You mean like Miss Bly’s investigation? That’s already been done, you know.”   
  
“Oh, I know” Denton nodded, shifting on his awkward seat, leaning closer to her “It was done, stirred up a hell of a lotta trouble for the place too. Her work lit up a fire under their asses as well as got the attention of politicians and policymakers to fix things. It was a huge story at the time and I think we’re about due for a follow-up to see what actually got done. Don’t you?”

  
Katherine stared at the empty corner on the other end of her desk, analyzing every curving line of the woodgrain. She considered the idea, realizing that Denton was onto something. “I...could...potentially…”   
  
“It’ll certainly get you out of a few more dinners with young Mr. What’s-His-Wealth?” Denton was really laying it on thick now, encouraged by Katherine _not_ rejecting the idea. “I can arrange for something in the morning, we’d just need a physician to sign off on the paperwork that get you an in.”   
  
His suggestion drew a sly smirk to Katherine’s lips, the right corner twitching up until she looked up at her editor with that spark in her eyes that spelled trouble (and an excellent headline). “It so happens, we both know a physician that could take care of that paperwork.”

  
  


**Saturday, June 6th, 1903**   


It was well into the hot afternoon that Bryan Denton pulled the clinic door open for Katherine. They walked in together and the first thing Katherine found herself wondering what order David would react in: happy to see her, happy to see Denton, upset at their crazy idea, convinced that they came to him under false pretenses, or kick them right out of the building without so much as a chance to say ‘hello’.  
  
Instead, she was practically bowled over by a flash of brown hair and finely perfumed blouse. The only reason she didn’t go careening through the window was that her assailant held her in a vice-like hug. That, and Denton’s hand on her back. She only managed a squawk, her breath knocked clean out of her lungs for a moment.   
  
“Speak of the devil herself!” The hug loosened and the same hands pushed her away, holding her shoulders tight. “Katherine Pu... _Plumber_ ” Sarah’s brown eyes were unforgettable, their usual haughty boredom glimmering with what Katherine could almost mistake for joy. It had been ages since they had last met - probably close to a year, and yet here she was, welcoming Katherine with open arms.

 

To be safe, Katherine gave Sarah a warm smile and drew her back into an embrace. “I missed you too, Sar” she admitted, noting that Sarah’s soft, brown waves were now pinned up in a coif proper to her age and social station. For someone that had sworn up and down that money wouldn’t change her, Sarah certainly seemed to develop a taste for the finer things.

 

“David’s in a...um…meeting” Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the door that Katherine remembered to be the main office. David had apparently changed too, if he was actually using that room. “I can interrupt it though, I’m sure he’d be much happier to see you than Blink” she cleared her throat as she said the name, as if the mere sound offended her lips. “Wait here and I’ll go take care of that” Sarah spun on her heel before they could talk her out of it and ducked into the office.  
  
Katherine’s eyebrows shot up and she looked over at Denton who gave her a small shrug, looking just as confused. On their way over, he mentioned that he had paid the Jacobs family fairly regular visits, making sure that Esther and her children were managing without Meyer. Katherine suspected that it was a poor excuse to cover up that he was trying to court Esther. Enough time had passed, after all, and maybe Esther hadn’t planned on remaining a widow forever. It hadn’t been Katherine’s place to ask and Denton rarely divulged details about his private life. The fact that he had said anything about these visits at all was enormous.   
If Denton looked as confused as Katherine was, then there was definitely something to be concerned about. 

 

They stepped further inside the waiting room and took seats on a wood bench running the whole length of the far wall. Katherine folded her gloved hands in her lap, worrying a lace handkerchief she’d been using to dab sweat off her temples from the day's sweltering heat. Lost in thought, she almost forgot that Denton was even there beside her. She was beginning to wonder if the article was worth disturbing all these old ghosts for.   
Sarah had been happy enough to see them, but David was another story. Before her mind wandered too far down that path, the office door opened and a rough-looking man stalked out, shoving his cap low over his face, a slip of paper clutched in his fist. Katherine pushed to her feet, bile rising in her throat at a glimpse of the leather eyepatch, the straw blonde hair sticking out from under the cap, the sharp blue eye that locked on her.  
“Louis” she nodded, her voice hard and blank, which took all her effort. More than anything, she wanted to clock him right in that jaw of his. She suspected that at the moment, the feeling was probably shared by most of the people in the building.   
“Plumber” Blink grunted, taking a step back. He shot Denton a look, then glanced back to Katherine, seemingly trying to figure out why they were at the Jacobs’ clinic together. The sneer he gave her sent a chill down her spine and she forced herself to stand even taller, as if she had swallowed a steel rod. He said nothing more, just strode right out, letting the clinic door slam shut behind him so violently that the windows shook and the little silver bell above the door nearly flew right off its hook.

 

Denton had stood up next to her, keeping his distance. He and Katherine rarely discussed things that had gone down after the strike, so she wasn’t sure what he was privy to. It was becoming evident that whatever had been swept under the rug all those years back was finally threatening to come spilling back out. “Well, _that’s_ a face I hadn’t planned on today” she heard Denton mutter to himself as the click of Sarah’s boots approached them once more.   
  
“David’s ready for you now” she gave them both an apologetic smile, a hand going up to her hair and patting back an invisible strand, a rare glimpse of Sarah Jacobs inexplicably showing her nerves.

 

Ever the gentleman, Denton let Katherine lead the way into the office, where David stood by his desk. The flush on his cheeks was a clue that the previous meeting was a heated one. Katherine thought it made him look rather charming and boyish, in the way she remembered him from when they’d first met.   
“Hello, David” she approached him, unsure of how to greet him properly - a handshake, a polite cheek kiss...a spitshake? No, definitely not the latter. If she remembered correctly, David never did get used to those.   
“Katherine” he stepped forward and took her by the shoulder to dip in for a light kiss on the cheek - a warm greeting between old friends. At least in this he established how Katherine could proceed to act with him though it made her more tense - David wasn't acting himself. She took a step back, allowing her smile to reach her eyes, though David wasn’t looking at her anymore. For the briefest of moments, he paled, but just as quickly his expression shifted back to a business-like smile and he reached past Katherine, his hand outstretched for a handshake “Bry...Mr. Denton, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“We have a business request, David. I hope you could consider bending the rules a little for us?” Katherine spoke as she took a seat before the expansive oak desk, currently littered with what looked like old letters and postcards all bearing the same elegant handwriting.   
“Oh?” David made a curious sound, still standing before Denton. Recovering from whatever shock had come over him, David ushered Denton to sit in the other chair and swept around to the other side of the desk. “What sort of request?” he quickly shuffled the correspondence into a messy pile and shoved it in the top drawer of his desk, locking it quickly with a flick of his wrist.   
“Perhaps some coffee first?” Denton leaned back in his seat with, what looked like to Katherine, a look of mischief on her editor’s face.


	5. Matilda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For context:  
> Matilda is 4  
> Rolf is 7  
> Gracie and Abel are 2.5
> 
> Someone's been busy...

**Saturday, June 6th, 1903**

 

The new nurse was _not_  nice.

Gertrude hadn’t been too awful. She was much older. Her teeth were really yellow and when she coughed, her chest sounded like marbles were bouncing around inside. But she hadn’t been awful. She had left because Rolf refused to wear his breeches in the apartment and she didn’t seem to like that. “Like Father, Like Son” she had said rather sternly before she went home one night and never came back.

Lydia had been very nice. She ‘met a boy’ though and she said they were going to get married, so she had to stop coming. Matilda really wanted to go to the wedding, but nobody seemed to know when it would happen or what the boy’s name was. Matilda really liked weddings. She’d never been to one, but she was sure she liked weddings.

The new nurse, Millie, was very pretty, like a doll in the shop on Grand Street. Matilda stopped at that shop every time they passed it and if she was being really, really, really good that day, her Daddy would pull out a penny and hand it to her. One day, she dreamed to have enough pennies saved up to buy that doll. Except now that Millie was around with her golden curls and horrible porridges, Matilda didn’t want that doll so much anymore. The last time she had stopped at the shop window, the doll made her mouth taste like burnt oatmeal. The pennies would have to wait.  
Millie was not nice.  
She was also not fun.

Rhoda had been fun. She used to sing all sorts of songs with made-up silly words about caterpillars and ducks and zebras and monkeys. She used to click her tongue whenever Matilda and Rolf made a mess, trying to help her around the house. But she never really got upset. Not like Millie did.  
One night, Rhoda and Daddy were talking in the kitchen when they thought Rolf and Matilda had fallen asleep on their little cot behind the curtain in the side room. Rhoda was really sad and started crying. When Matilda peeked out to give Rhoda a feel-better hug, she only cried harder, kissed Matilda’s head and left.  
Daddy cried too and it made his face itchy enough that he had to take off his eyepatch for a bit.  
Matilda hugged him hard after Rhoda left. She had held on, even though he smelled funny, the way he did when he came home from work - sour, smoky, and kind of wet. She sat in his lap and put ointment on his face where the eyepatch rubbed it raw until he wasn’t so sad anymore. Daddy said that Rhoda left because he did something to her, but maybe she’d come back when the baby was born. Matilda liked babies too - they were cute and pink and she could dress them up.

 

Then there was Diana. Matilda didn’t remember her all too well, mainly because she had been so quiet and constantly trying to keep busy. One day, she just didn’t show up after the twins, Abel and Gracie arrived. Abel and Gracie were babies then, but they weren’t pink. They were the colour of Daddy’s coffee and had soft hair like Rhoda’s. Matilda had always liked Rhoda’s hair - it was so different from her own straw-coloured locks. They were brought in a basket by Uncle Pie. Uncle Pie was really nice - he was a policeman and would let Matilda polish his badge whenever he came by to have dinner with Daddy.

After Diana they had Allie, Maddison, Zulmira, Cora, Nina, Zhang Li, Libby, and Rachel.

 

There was also Uncle Mush. He was around a lot, especially now that Millie had showed up. Matilda didn’t mind that one bit, because Uncle Mush brought fruit, so she could avoid Millie’s porridges on those days. He also brought Rolf medicine a year ago when he was really, really sick. Matilda had asked Uncle Mush if he had any medicine for Gertrude and he promised he’d try and get some. Uncle Mush was nice and fun and sweet and took care of Daddy, when he was sad or sick or both.

 

Millie didn’t like it when Matilda asked her questions. She didn’t like it when Rolf tried to start up an orchestra with Matilda, Abel, and Gracie. She didn’t like it when Abel and Gracie splashed in the sink. Matilda thought it was actually pretty funny, but kept it to herself. With Millie around, Matilda kept a lot to herself.

 

Daddy was late, which meant that Millie was cranky, Rolf was hungry and the twins wanted to go to sleep. It had been a really hot day and instead of taking everyone outside, like Daddy had asked, Millie spent the day in an armchair with a book. Matilda had tried to look at the book, but it had no pictures and Millie didn’t want to read it out loud. Matilda had tried to remind Millie that she promised Daddy to take them outside, but Millie shooed her away. For the last hour, Matilda had sat on the windowsill, her legs dangling over the metal landing of the fire escape below her window, debating if she would be able to find Lydia or Uncle Mush, if she went down to the street and asked around. She was pretty sure she knew where Daddy’s work was - three blocks over, in a green shop with a picture of a gold bubbly mug on a peeling sign above the door - she could probably make it there on her own, to make sure he didn’t forget to come home like so many of their nannies had.

Just as Matilda was about to hop down to the landing, the familiar jangle of keys rattled in the door and Rolf bolted to open it.  
Millie got to her feet, tucking her book into her purse, already wearing her hat and gloves. Matilda guessed that Millie had somewhere to be, the way she had dressed so quickly when the clock on the mantle struck the hour when she usually left.

“Daddy, Daddy!” the twins stumbled over one another, rushing to greet him. Matilda scrambled off the windowsill, hopping back into the apartment and ran over as well, throwing her skinny arms around her daddy’s middle.  
“Daddy, I hung-ee!”  
“Daddy, I pai-ted”  
“Daddy, Abel bite me”  
“Daddy, lookit my dress!”  
“Daddy, did you bring the book about pirates?”  
The four kids tried to get his attention, but Matilda knew the sneaky trick to get his hugs first - she wriggled right into him, her cheek to his belly and looked up at him with big blue eyes “You know, daddy? I love you”

“I love you too, monkey” he smiled right down at her and in that moment Matilda felt like the most important person in his world.

 

Millie came over and did her usual round of complaints: Rolf without pants, the twins making a mess of everything, and Matilda talking all sorts of nonsense. Daddy pulled out his coin purse and counted out the right number of coins, adding a few extra pennies because Millie gave him a funny look. Daddy pushed Matilda gently away and she bounced off to the kitchen to start pulling out plates for everyone to eat.

Matilda heard Daddy apologize to Millie, even though it was Millie who really should have been apologizing to everyone. Millie tried to give him a hug and tell Daddy a secret in his ear.  
“Not tonight, Millie” he nudged her away and over toward the door. She didn’t seem too happy “in fact, not any other night. We’re done.”

Millie walked out without a goodbye. So rude.

 

“How was your day, Daddy?” Matilda reclaimed her spot at his side, squeezing his middle once more.  
“Long, monkey” he looked so tired. Even his eyepatch looked tired and a little lopsided “It was long, but ya know, ‘s gonna be betta tomorra” Daddy talked funny sometimes, especially when Uncle Pie or Uncle Mush were around. He wandered over to the dining table and collapsed in one of the chairs. Matilda was used to seeing him like this, especially after the twins showed up.

“Millie made porridge” Matilda warned Daddy, who made a face “it’s not as much bad...”  
“Not ‘too bad’, monkey.” Daddy gently corrected her, his eye already closed halfway. “Porridge it is, then”  
Rolf brought over the ointment from Daddy’s shelf in the bedroom and handed it to Matilda. In turn, she clambered to sit in Daddy’s lap, and carefully spread the ointment all along where the eyepatch left raw, red lines on his cheek and forehead. Rolf set the table and helped the twins to their seats, pouring cups of milk and ladling out porridge into bowls. Daddy fell asleep, sitting right there at the table, before Matilda even finished. She left him to it. Climbing off his lap, she put away the ointment and came back to eat her own supper.

The four kids tidied up while Daddy slept. Rolf and Matilda helped the twins with their nightgowns. Just as they were all cuddling up to sleep on their little cot behind the curtain, Daddy shuffled over from the table to their old sofa. Matilda was happy to hear the familiar creak of the sofa springs, because that meant Daddy would get some sleep tonight.

“Good night, Rolf”  
“Good night, ‘tilda”  
“Good night, Abel”  
“Good night, Gracie”  
“Goo-nii, Rof, Goo-nii ‘ti-da, Goo-nii, Babel”  
“Goo-niiht, Rof, Goo-niiht ‘ti-da, Goo-niiht Gracee”


	6. Lucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We go back in time just a little.

**Tuesday, December 18, 1900 (Julian Calendar) / December 31, 1900 (Gregorian Calendar)**

 

The clapboard cabin wasn’t made for the winter. There were gaps as wide as a thumb in some places and spots where the wood knots in the boards had fallen out. There was one particular spot just above the cot that would whistle in a particularly shrill pitch when the wind picked up. When it snowed, uninvited snowflakes tumbled right in, settling onto the straw-stuffed sack that called itself a pillow.

 

"Should've grabbed more matches" Lucy muttered to herself as she pulled her shawls up from her shoulders to cover her head and warm her ears. "Come _on_..."  she'd been fighting with the narrow wood stove for the better part of half an hour, since being dismissed from the main house for the night. Her hands had already been scrubbed raw by all the chores she was required to complete before the night was done, and her tattered fingerless gloves offered very little warmth to help them recover. 

The matches were wet and the wood wasn’t nearly thick enough to keep the flame for any reasonable amount of time. Even if the flames did take, she’d have to re-stoke the stove in an about two hours and keep doing so regularly, until sunrise. At least she had work to look forward to - making breakfast for the Egorov family meant she’d be back in the kitchen of the main house in a few hours. If she was lucky, the baby would wake up before then and she’d have to go in and feed her in the night.  
  
With chattering teeth, she tried to warm up her stiff blue-tinged fingers with her breath. She pressed her fingertips to her chapped lips and exhaled, thinking warm thoughts: the pot-bellied stove in the main house, the fireplace in her father’s study back at the clinic, hot cocoa that was served at the Academy on Friday afternoons as a treat. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it, tried to remember what real warmth felt like. She could picture it with her mind's eye - the fire, the steaming mugs...the hot and sticky summer nights in the city, the kind that made you want to peel off the last of your clothes and pray for the faintest breeze. The kind that got too hot when a boy and a girl would sneak off to…  
Lucy shook her head, trying to rattle that memory out of her brain, despite the fact that it still made her stomach drop into that funny feeling that terrified and thrilled all at once. She wouldn’t be in her current situation if those hot summer nights had never happened.

Her fingers throbbed from the cold. She could barely bend them at this point to even hold yet another match to strike it against the torn-up matchbox. One strike. Two strikes. Three. Four. A spark! The match caught and for a few seconds flared up bright and promising, its little light heating up the her fingertips that it hurt. Gently, cupping the flame with her free hand, she tried to maneuver the match into the stove, but at the last moment her hand twitched from the cold and she dropped the precious splinter. The flame was out before it even hit the floor.

 

“Godfuckin’ _damnit_ ” Lucy spat out, tears welling up in her eyes as she plopped backwards to sit before the useless stove.  
“Stupid, stupid, stupid” she scolded herself. Even her tears were cold, rolling down her cheeks as she lost it in her anger for a brief moment. She rubbed her eyes and face, eventually slipping her fingers into her white hair, nails digging into her scalp to feel something other than the cold. She was so damn cold.

 

If she could just close her eyes for a minute or two, then she’d have enough energy to keep trying with the matches. She curled up where she sat, fingers in her hair, palms pressed to her forehead, elbows resting on her knees, exhausted and so beyond cold that she couldn’t even shiver anymore. The wind wailed outside, kicking up snow from the fields. It got louder, more persistent, screeching from the far end of the row of cabins, angry and demanding. Lucy listened to it, her mind wandering, trying to register why that particular sound was so familiar. Maybe she could rest for five minutes, then she could focus on what that sound reminded her of. Maybe seven minutes at most. As she closed her eyes and began to lower to the floor, something churned sluggishly at the back of her mind "The baby" she snapped to attention.

“Fuck. The _baby_ ” she pushed herself back to sit and rubbed and slapped her face to wake up. With surprisingly more effort than should have been necessary, she forced herself to her feet, grabbing at anything remotely stable within reach. Her knees were stiff, her back felt rusty, and her head felt like it was stuffed with straw. 

 

When she stumbled out of the cabin, Lucy's foot slipped on a crust of ice on the middle step. With a cat-like twist, she managed to catch herself at the last moment, steadying herself on the handle of the cabin door. That experience taught her a lesson. For the rest of the walk, she stuck a hand out to hold on to the rough siding of the other cabins she had to pass to get to the house. She really should have asked for the cabin closest to the house. It would have been so much easier, if she didn’t have to pass the other five cabins.  
  
Oddly, it felt warmer outside, despite the dipping temperatures. The wind bit so hard that it burned her nose, her cheeks, and her fingers where she gripped the shawls tighter around her head and shoulders. Pushing through knee-deep snow, Lucy's skirts kept tangling around her legs and pushing more snow over the brim of her home-made felt boots. The boots had been Jake's, but since he had outgrown them during the time he spent in the city, Fyodor Mikhailovitch had given them to Lucy. He had called them ' _valenki_ '. As warm as the valenki were, they were also several sizes too big and threatened to slip off with every step. 

“The baby” she reminded herself as the wind swirled the sound of Nora's hungry cries all around her, disorienting her in the dark of the night. Without the landmarks on her path, she would have gotten lost the moment she stepped foot out of her cabin - the other cabins, the well, the barn looming off to the side, the woodpile under an overhang on the side of the house. 

 

“The. _Baby_ ” Lucy snarled to herself, gritting her teeth and forcing her to push through the final stretch of a few dozen feet between the last cabin and the house. Gripping her shawls with one hand and her skirts with the other, she pressed on, not even caring at this point that her valenki had filled with snow nearly to the top. With only a few feet left to go, Lucy's right foot got caught yet again. Out of sheer momentum, she yanked her leg and landed face-forward into the snow, sinking into it. Laying there for a few moments, Lucy took the reprieve to rest her aching legs and appreciate the quiet, as the deep snow muffled the angry winds up above. Although the idea of just staying there did sound far more comfortable than walking at the moment, Lucy pulled together whatever shreds of strength she had left and managed to pull herself back up by grabbing hold of logs in the woodpile.

 

Up ahead, she heard the screen door slam open and a flickering lamp sway wildly as a broad shape walked quickly across the wraparound porch. The lamp lit up a young, not un-handsome face and relief flooded Lucy's whole being - she was almost there and so close to safety.  
“Lucy? You out there?!” Jake’s voice was strong against the wind, a lighthouse in the snowstorm.  
“Jake, I’se comin'!” she called back, though the wind blasted a spray of snow into her face that made her cough and sputter.

Seven more steps and she felt a pair of hot hands firmly grip her shoulders. She latched onto his forearm in return, letting him pull her the rest of the way onto the porch. He shifted his grip and Lucy fell right against him, his arm around her shoulder as he half-guided, half-dragged her into the mudroom inside. 

“Th-th-thank y-you” Lucy hiccuped through chattering teeth, shying away from him immediately, once they were inside. She peeled off her wet outer layers and stepped out of the valenki, remaining in soaked wool stockings.   
"Go, I'll take care of all this" Jake gave her a gentle push toward the stairs to the bedrooms. He'd hang up the shawls and set her valenki close to the kitchen stove to dry out. Lucy rushed upstairs because Nora was demanding her, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake.

 

Varvara was already in the nursery, rocking the infant, singing a lullaby in a language that Lucy knew she would have to learn and fast. At the sound of Lucy's footsteps up the stairs, she stopped singing and walked into the hallway at the top of the stairs.  The harsh look she greeted Lucy with, made her instantly forget that she had nearly frozen to death mere minutes earlier. She knew that she had taken too long to get there and despite the snow and the storm raging outside, it was still her fault. Without a single word, Varvara shoved Lucy toward the rocking chair by the crib and handed her the wailing bundle.

“You’se a’right, sweetness…” Lucy muttered to Nora, heart breaking at the sight of the pink tear-streaked face. The baby certainly didn't know about the storm or understand why her meal was taking so long. She just wanted to eat and go back to sleep. Lucy rocked the bundle and cooed, working the buttons of her sweater and blouse with stiff, swollen fingers.

“Po-russki” Varvara snapped. She was always demanding that Lucy never speak any other language to Nora for fear of corrupting the child. If it weren't for her milk, Varvara would have tossed Lucy out the second Jake had brought her to the farm.

“Sor...ry” Lucy caught herself, but couldn't for the life of her remember the correct word in Russian. She was too focused on the buttons and failing to undo them. Varvara slapped Lucy across the cheek for the linguistic indiscretion, then painfully smacked Lucy's hand out of the way. Pulling at the buttons herself until the blouse and sweater were open enough, Varvara helped herself to what Nora was demanding. With zero regard for Lucy’s body and her own usual disgust for Lucy's unnatural paleness, she fished out a breast and shoved it into Nora’s tiny mouth, finally silencing her cries. Nora grunted and settled in to suckle so hard that Lucy had to grit her teeth so as not to cry from the pain of the latch. Satisfied that Nora was feeding, Varvara stalked out without another look at the wet nurse.   
"Spokojno- noche" Lucy garbled the 'good night' but at least she was trying. Varvara had to have been exhausted, if she didn't stick around to watch Lucy feed the baby, like she usually did. The woman hadn't left Lucy alone with the infant even once so far.

  
Lucy rocked lightly back and forth in the chair, cradling Nora and humming a melody. Varvara allowed humming, at least. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the pace of Nora's hungry suckling, once more grateful that at least something good came out of her own loss. At least she could feed Nora.

 

Varvara’s footsteps down the hallway were interrupted by heavier ones that Lucy could only imagine were Jake’s. She was starting to differentiate the sounds of all the people that lived in the house.   
“Mama?" He spoke softly, switching to Russian because English really was only tolerated from the hired hands the farm took on. Lucy couldn't understand much, beyond her own name and Nora's. His voice was low, yet gently pleading, while his mother's was firm and tinged with frustration. Whatever their conversation was, Varvara certainly wasn't happy, but she relented in the end.  
  
Lucy kept rocking in the chair, feeling lost and left out, especially since it sounded like Varvara and Jake were deciding her fate. She was a stranger in this house, a tool to be kept while she was useful.   
  
  


 

She didn’t know how it happened, but Lucy had slept. The first rays of sunshine peeking in through the nursery window woke her up, warming her hand, resting across her lap. Nora was fast asleep in her crib, suckling air as she dreamed little dreams. Jake must have moved her from Lucy's arms, because Varvara would have slapped her for sleeping on the job. There was a shawl draped around Lucy's shoulders, over her blouse that was still undone, but pulled closed to give her a little bit of modesty. Her hands were red and chapping, but the swelling had gone down enough that she could redo the buttons of her blouse.

“Sleep well, sweetness” she whispered to Nora as she got up and left the room. The family would be waking up soon and they would be expecting a festive breakfast. It was New Year's Eve after all, even if they operated on an antiquated calendar.   
  
As she entered the kitchen, an anxious realization came over her - she would be expected to make dinner for the night's festivities and she was only a few months into learning from Varvara the kind of cooking the family expected. Beets, turnips, potatoes, pickled everything...she didn't know where to even start with some of the dishes. That was something to address later. At the moment, she focused on coffee, toast, eggs, and _kasha_ \- a very particular manner of cooking porridge.  
  
  


"Lusya" Varvara walked in with Jake in tow. He hung back, so as to show his mother the respect she demanded. "is cold out. Stay here when cold. Make easy for Nora" she cleared her throat and looked to Jake, who gave her a solemn nod. A smile crossed his lips, when his mother turned away again and only Lucy would see his true reaction. " _S novim godom_ " Varvara sourly wished Lucy a 'happpy new year', as if permission to stay in the house, sleeping on the floor by the kitchen stove was Lucy's gift. She couldn't have asked for anything better.  
" _S nove...godjom_ " Lucy echoed, her whole face flushing a deep red. 


	7. Sarah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Sarah's life and the origin of the Jacobs family wealth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this is rambly - inspiration struck and it seems like I'm putting in a block of chapters that reveals a little bit more of backstory before the story can continue.

**Tuesday, December 18, 1900**

  


“Come to a meeting” Sarah suggested, for once sounding completely genuine in her offer. “Seriously, come out with me. There’s good people in the Party and there’s heat...maybe even a drink or two”  
“You _drink_ ?” David latched on to the easiest thing to give his sister a hard time for.   
“And you _don’t_ ?” she countered, an eyebrow cocked, measuring her brother with a smart look. Just the other night, he’d stumbled in at an ungodly hour after what was supposed to have been a ‘quick stop at Denton’s office’. Given everything that David was going through, she would have forgotten the incident, had he not knocked over an entire basket of piecework and left a muddy bootprint right in the middle of some freshly starched handkerchiefs. At least he was mortified and apologetic the next morning.   
“Whatever. Just say it like it is - you need me to walk with you. That’s fine, I’ll walk with you.” David coughed, trying to suppress a tickle at the back of his throat.   
“Are you alright?” Sarah was already headed to the dresser to pull out a scratchy wool shawl. She knew David had been putting in extra hours at the clinic and it was prime season for sneezes and chills. “There’s tea there too”   
“I already agreed Sar, no need to oversell it” David followed her to the coat rack and helped his sister with her coat, before shrugging on his own.   
“Hey, I’ve been telling you to give it a chance for a while now. We’re only Socialists, not cannibals” she rolled her eyes, pulling the shawl up over her hair and wrapping the ends around her neck in a very distinctive old-world fashion that her mother taught her.

  


They trekked through snow-clogged streets to a print shop that peddled paper ephemera for all occasions. In a city full of mega print and publishing houses, the little shop chugged along, printing for the community, as well as selling pretty greeting cards and whimsical drawings of the city to anyone willing to buy them. At night, while the presses rested and the clanging of iron and steel stilled for a few hours, the shop hosted private gatherings for like-minded men and women who believed in a different path toward a brighter future for their country. 

 

“Colder than a witch’s teat” Sarah grumbled, gritting her teeth to steel herself against the biting cold “That’s how Jack would say it, right?” she tried to distract David, so he wouldn’t begin to regret chaperoning her that night.  
“Sure. A little more crass, but you’ve got the idea” he exhaled something akin to a chuckle, which sent him into a short coughing fit.   
“Have you heard from him?” she glanced over at David and huddled closer to him. Sarah slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, anchoring herself in case her thrice-re-soled boots hit ice on their walk.   
“Naw, not in a few weeks” he flexed his arm, locking her arm to his side with his elbow, while keeping his own freezing hands stuffed in his pockets. “I’m sure he’s got a lot of important things on his plate right now, what with the _fiscal_ year coming to a close.” he just about rolled his eyes at the fact that Jack started caring about such things   
“Right” Sarah said flatly, still in disbelief that the once-poor, self-aggrandizing, pseudo-cowboy she’d met a year and a half ago was now ‘knobbin’ with the muckety-mucks’ of the highest sort. His own expression. Just mere months ago, Jack would drive Sarah crazy, constantly hanging around her mother’s kitchen, eating whatever leftovers weren’t nailed down, despite knowing that the Jacobses were counting all their pennies _and_ all their crumbs. Tonight, thanks to his fancy newspaper job and fancy newspaper tycoon sweetheart, he was probably enjoying a five-course meal at the Pulitzer estate, while the Jacobses had made do with cabbage soup. That traitorous bastard.  

  


The print shop was only a few blocks away, but the weather stretched the trip out to nearly half an hour. By the time they arrived at their destination, the shop had been shuttered and locked for the night.  
“Are we late?” David sounded confused, because he was expecting quite the turnout, if any of Sarah’s stories were to be believed.   
“A little, everyone’s already downstairs by now.” Sarah came up to the shop door and gave it a patterned knock. She looked over at him and added, hoping to ease the confusion off his face “We don’t meet in the shop itself...that’s just asking for trouble, Davey. There’s a place for us that’s a bit more private” she shuffled from one foot to another, trying to regain some feeling in her toes, hoping someone would open up soon.

  
“My, my...izzat, _Davey_ , gracing us with his presence?” a familiar voice chuckled from the shadows of a service alley just around the corner of the building. A cloud of tobacco smoke whipped by, tossed around by the wind. “Never thought you’d get that stick outta yer ass long enough to give us a chance”   
“Yeah, yeah” David chuckled, coughed, then smirked again, recognizing an old friend “Good to see you too, Skittery. Why am I not surprised you’d be at the heart of this whole operation?”

 

“Oh yeah, he’s the most ardent one of all of us” she snorted a quiet laugh, giving Skittery a small nod “Think you could let us in?”  
The young man came over and clapped David on the back, a cigarette stub still hanging on his lips. David, Sarah noticed, withheld from a spitshake, never really having gotten into the habit, no matter how often he’d done one. For a moment, Sarah wondered if David had actually retained something from the clinic and opted out so as not to pass on his cough. 

“Hey, Sar…” Skittery nodded back, taking a drag of his cigarette. He tipped his head toward the alley. “C’mon, we’ll go through the side door. Lucky I was taking my time to enjoy the beautiful night” he smirked as the three of them made their way deeper into the alley, the wind and snow stilling a little in the narrow passage.

  


Skittery tossed aside the butt of his cigarette, then pulled up his collar with ink-stained fingers. The sight of the ink somehow sending a pang of nostalgia through Sarah’s heart. It wasn’t all that long ago that David and Les both sported a similar professional mark, coming home from a day of hawking headlines. Not that she had much approved of her brothers picking up that particular trade back then. Reflecting on it now, it had been a simpler time that she would go back to in a heartbeat.

  


“I’m actually only…” David hesitated at the door, as if crossing the threshold would immediately infect him with all sorts of revolutionary ideas that he wasn’t prepared for.   
“...only what?” Skittery challenged, already shrugging off his coat and tossing it on a hook by the door. Without pause, he took Sarah’s coat, easing it off her shoulders and hanging it up on the hook with notably more care. Ever the gentleman, despite practically raising himself on the streets. “...only nothin’, ‘cause you’re already here and it’s shit outside. May as well make the best of it. You’re gonna have to come back for _this_ one in a few hours anyway.” he hiked his thumb toward Sarah.   
“I guess you’re right.” David pulled off his cap and ran a hand over his curls. It was a small gesture, but enough to confirm to Sarah just how nervous her brother was at the moment. “I didn’t think you were a…” David’s voice was hesitant as he stepped over the threshold and peeled off his own coat, shaking a thick layer of snow off his shoulders.   
“What? A traitor to democracy?” Skittery shrugged easily enough, locking and bolting the door “Naw, not really...I’m just bored enough most of the time that this is kinda entertaining. I’ll find a new schtick next week.”   


Sarah knew that Skittery was lying. Despite his noncommittal reply, she knew that he was passionate about a number of societal ailments that their group so often discussed. The guy had strong opinions and reasonable ideas, so she often found herself listening in on whatever debate he took part in. In addition to his own experiences, Sarah noted that he drew on observation, empathy, and a deeply-rooted sense of responsibility that rivaled even David’s. Even though they butted heads often and Sarah found Skittery’s love for playing devil’s advocate absolutely infuriating, she still could respect his dedication to whatever he set his mind to. He was usually subtle about it too - things just got done with him around, without fanfare or boasting. Like the time he started apprenticing at the print shop. After things started turning sour between Jack, David, and Spot, many of the guys were forced to choose sides and sacrifice friendships and family in the process. Skittery opted to remain neutral and focused on his work, his life, and his girl, leaving the squabbling to the others. 

 

  
Deciding to keep any comments about it to herself, Sarah headed to the back of the shop where a rickety set of stairs led down to the basement.   
She moved past three old-style platen presses that still sported their original intricate gold detailing. The iron beasts were at rest for the night, but she could imagine in her mind’s eye how they came to life, once that flywheel got to spinning. She walked past the setting table, a work bench with orders arranged in neat piles, shelves heavy with cans of ink and paper for every kind of job. The door to the cellar lay beyond a wall of type cabinets, stacked high and filled with all sorts of beautiful type, the labels on each case meticulously documenting the contents within. The very distinct earthy scent of ink mixed with the palpable dryness of paper reminded her of the night last summer, when she had her first real taste of revolution. Printing the Newsies Banner with her brothers, Denton, Jack, and the crew Katherine managed to cobble together had been an eye-opening experience. A simple leaflet - some ink on a page and yet it helped spread the word and bring the entire city to its knees for a day. The power of the press indeed. 

 

As she got to the stairs, a light from the back room caught her eye. She knew Skittery lived back there, but she’d never actually seen the space. The door was ajar and just in her line of sight, she could see a delicate hand flying across a page, painting with colours vibrant enough to distinguish even in the light of the kerosene lamp perched on the edge of the work table.  
“Marjana?” Sarah approached the door with a smile on her lips. She had never seen the girl at work, only her finished pieces out on display in the shop window. The process was mesmerizing. “I didn’t know this was where you paint”.   
Marjana was so deep in thought, focused on her piece that it took her a beat to realize someone was speaking. “Hmm?” she made a sound without looking up.   
“I’m sorry…” Sarah hesitated at the door, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “...I just never saw anyone paint like that before” she tried to catch a glimpse of what the girl was working on and had to hold back a sigh, recognizing the facade of Irving Hall.   
“Oh...how do other people paint?” Marjana finally looked up from her work, cocking her head at the observation, looking genuinely confused. Sarah noticed that her usual thick black braid was undone, a curtain of hair cascading loosely down her back.   
“I don’t know. Just not like you, I suppose” Sarah wasn’t really sure what compelled her to comment in the first place. Marjana had always been a presence at the meetings, sassy and cynical to rival Skittery. From what Sarah had gathered, they’d known one another for a very long time and were practically inseparable. She had always wondered if there was more to their friendship than they advertised. 

“Thank you” Marjana stared at Sarah, though her fingers were still fidgeting with her brush. There was something unsettling about how distant she sounded, though maybe it was simply because she had been interrupted while working.   
  
“Poppy, we’re heading downstairs. You comin’?” Skittery’s footsteps made the wood floorboards groan behind her and Sarah was grateful for his stepping in to diffuse the awkwardness. “Sarah bugging you, sweetheart?” he pushed right past Sarah, giving her an odd look and walked over to Marjana, his hand going to her shoulder in a very protective gesture.   
“No, I should finish for tonight” Marjana spoke without looking up or putting down her brush. Sarah didn’t realize she was staring, frozen in the doorway and observing the domestic scene unfolding before her.   
Skittery gave Marjana’s shoulder a squeeze and gently moved to braid her hair while she finished her painting. At first, Sarah thought that this sparse room was a space for Marjana to paint in, but the more she looked around, the more was revealed. A cot was tucked into the far corner with a colourful purple scarf smoothed over the top in an attempt to add a feminine touch; a bookshelf overloaded the books and more piled on the floor and on available surfaces; a line of clothes stretched across the room with both of their garments interspersed with pinned drawings hung up to dry; a small wood stove crackled in the middle of it all in an attempt to keep the chill at bay; the table occupied the prime spot under the only window. They had so little. Sarah wondered if that was why Skittery was always so contrary.   
“I’ll make tea for everyone” Marjana smiled up at Skittery with such tenderness, the like of which Sarah had never witnessed between them in public. She involuntarily took a step back, only then realizing how badly she was intruding.   
“Thanks, Poppy” Skittery smiled down at her and brushed a kiss to the top of her head, his hands slipping back to her shoulders and giving them another squeeze, before the creak of floorboards under Sarah’s step got his attention. “Right…” he cleared his throat, his whole demeanor stiffening once again “...let’s get down there.” he gave Sarah another odd look as he gestured for her to get moving.

 

As Sarah spun on her heel to head to the stairs, she caught sight of David standing idly by one of the presses, reading framed clippings up on the wall. She couldn’t be sure which one exactly he was reading, though she knew that one of the articles had been Denton’s - the one that covered the strike last summer. If it weren’t for the clinic, maybe David would have apprenticed with Denton, like he had wanted. Sarah caught herself wondering how things could have been different if a child of Dr. Sherway hadn’t been prenatally promised to a Jacobs offspring. Perhaps if Dr. Sherway had had a son, it would have been Sarah getting married off to satisfy the agreement.   
“Come on, David, let’s go?” she threw the brakes on her own train of thought and motioned for David to follow her into the cellar with Skittery and Marjana.

 

  
Down below, the atmosphere was a wild contrast to the awkwardness upstairs. The cellar was packed with all sorts of people who were chatting, debating, philosophizing, and overall having a good time with good company. 

“Oy, Specs! Look who Sarah finally dragged in!” Skittery called out over the heads of the attendees, waving to another unexpected face in the crowd. Sarah caught the eye of a few of her friends and her spirits soared once again, at ease now in a safe space. Marjana moved like a shadow past them to busy herself making tea for all the guests.  
“Damnit, Davey! Took ya long enough!” Specs pushed through and popped up in front of them, initiating a spitshake before David could avoid it. David was clearly in shock at the moment and Sarah found his expression on the whole, hilarious.   
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You just might have fun tonight” she reminded her brother as she left the boys to catch up, heading to greet her own friends.   
  


Over the course of the next hour, Sarah lost track of David. She got pulled into a debate that she would have happily continued for the rest of the evening until Skittery sat down next to her with a most unimpressed look on his face.  
  
“David’s filled me in some about what’s been happening” he leaned forward, putting the full weight of his elbows on his knees.   
Sarah didn’t stop her conversation right away, but when she did, she looked particularly confused. “What part of what’s happening did he fill you in on?” she looked from Skittery to David, who stood just behind Skittery, looking exhausted.   
“The all of it. But my _particular_ concern is the fact that you talk all about  equality and a woman’s place. Yet when the opportunity presents itself to level out the playing field, you suddenly wilt away.”   
Sarah furrowed her brow at the accusation. “What are you talking about, Skittery? The subject hasn’t even come up tonight” yes it was true, Sarah was very vocal about carving out a place for women in modern society and establishing a level of equality that was so far unheard of and unwelcome.   
“That’s not what I mean, Sarah. I’m talking about your family’s specific situation” Skittery pulled out his cigarettes and slipped one into his mouth with a practiced motion, his eyes never leaving her face.   
“What he’s saying is that there might still be a way to keep the arrangement and...get to keep all the nice things.” David sunk down on a stool, looking at Skittery and making Sarah suddenly question whether she should have brought him that night. Clearly they’d been conspiring.

  


“So, that begs the question: what are _you_ willing to do for your family, Sarah?” Skittery narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her so intently that Sarah could feel those eyes boring right into her. Most women would balk at this and fall into a myriad explanations. Sarah, however, just got annoyed and clammed up even more, leaning back in her seat with a huff.   
“I do plenty” she squared her jaw and scanned the room, looking for anyone else who would be significantly more interesting company at the moment.   
“No, but really.” Skittery leaned back too, glancing away only long enough to thank Marjana for the tea that she had brought over on a tray. He touched her elbow and took the tray - tiny gestures that nobody else would have interpreted as romantic without the context of what Sarah had seen upstairs. Flashing a small smile just for Skittery, Marjana stepped away to attend to the others. 

“For all your big talk down here, when we’re back up in the real world, you’re just sitting around waiting for someone to come save you.” Skittery doubled down on Sarah as if Marjana hadn’t come by at all “You and I both know though that when push comes to shove, you can throw a decent punch too. Probably better ‘n Davey over here.” he jerked his head over at her brother. "So why're you still playing the damsel in distress bit?"

Sarah’s jaw muscles danced as she clenched her teeth, angry that he kept pushing it.  
“I don’t need saving.” she huffed again and took a long sip of her tea. Anything to keep distracted.   
“Oh but you _think_ you do. How about doing some saving of your own, princess?” Skittery blew out a cloud of smoke and leaned in closer to her, bringing a waft of tobacco and ink into her personal space. “David’s sacrificed an apprenticeship, a chance to marry someone of his own choosing, a family of his own…you can be damn sure that David would rather spend a thousand years writing copy for toothpaste ads than spend a single day doctoring patients.”

“Well…” David stammered, but had no strong argument to Skittery’s suggestion.  
“He could have had a family with her. It was _her_ fault the engagement had to get called off” Sarah glared at Skittery, then shot a look to David. He was so out of his own element at the moment that she could see even from her spot that he was sweating.   
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Do you really think that your brother would’ve shared her bed? Hypochondriac Davey making babies with a circus freak? Really? Because if you do believe that, then that’s _another_ sacrifice he would’ve made for the greater good of the Jacobs family. The man’s a goddamn saint.” Skittery sucked his teeth, driving his point home, before taking another drag of his cigarette.   
“Hey now! I’m not a hypochondriac!” David protested, looking at Skittery like he was about to throttle him for speaking so candidly about very private matters. “And that’s a cruel thing to say about Lucy, even by your standards, Skitts”   
“Yeah, that’s not right...they would’ve made it work” Sarah tried to defend, but had no comeback to his truth. It was probably unfair to think of Lucy only in terms of her skin colour, but she couldn’t help it. David had said she had been born that way - ‘a congenital condition’. Despite her modern and well-read views, Sarah firmly believed that Lucy’s albinism was a direct result of fate playing a cruel trick on the Jacobs and Sherway families - a curse for arranging the marriage before either child was even conceived. And Skittery did have a point - David had been uncomfortable so much as shaking Lucy’s hand, as if afraid she’d infect him. He certainly wouldn’t have consummated that marriage anytime soon, no matter how generous her dowry would have been.

  
Skittery shook his head when Sarah failed to produce any argument. He softly pointed out a little detail he’d always noticed about her “You get this... _wrinkle_...riiight here, when you’re in denial, Princess.” he rubbed between his own eyebrows, cigarette loose between index and middle finger. 

  
That was the last straw for her. Sarah slapped Skittery’s hand away from his face to get him to stop teasing. In the process, she knocked the cigarette out of his hand to the floor.

“Hey! Leave the merchandise outta this” he warned her, grabbing for the cigarette and popping it back in his mouth with a scowl. “Think about it...there’s still another Sherway that’s free to get married. If joining the two families is a thing that _has_ to happen...which I think is some archaic, old world bullshit, by the way...but if it _absolutely_ has to happen, then why don’t _you_ step up and marry the _old man_ ? If it’s about that nice step up the social ladder and lining your pockets so your whole _family_ don’t starve, then that sounds like a pretty fucking lucky break that you can’t waste, Sarah”

She wasn’t sure what to be more shocked by - Skittery’s language, his invasion of her family’s business, or him ordering her around the way he was. Regardless, Sarah sputtered, sat down her cup with an angry clatter and pushed to her feet “You have no idea what you’re talking about” she pushed back, though she knew that this comeback didn’t even make much sense.

 

“Look, if you’re lucky, the good doctor kicks the bucket in a decade or so and you’re a free woman again - a widow counting his money. He’s certainly easier on the eyes than his daughter was.” Skittery stood as well, towering over Sarah, a wisp of smoke curling from the end of his cigarette. “You want to be treated equally? You gotta eat a whole lotta shit before you get a thimble of sugar. Your brother was willing to get to chewing. Now it’s your chance.”  
  
“Figure it out, you two. I got more important things to deal with.” With that, he gave David a parting look, shook his head and headed off to find Marjana.

 

“He’s not wrong” David offered, for which he got struck with an eyeroll so exaggerated, that Sarah could have sworn she’d seen her own brain.

  


It wasn’t until they were practically at their doorstep after another half-hour trek through the snow, that Sarah paused and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.   
“It’s an opportunity, huh?” she grumbled to David.   
“It’s this or it’s all five of us busting ass until we die.” he offered in a matched flat tone “think about it, Sar...how much longer do you think you’ll keep making lace before you snap and murder us all?”   
Sarah didn't even need to answer that question. They both knew the answer was that Sarah had always despised making lace and it was a surprise to everyone, herself included, that she was still making it and hadn't gone insane.   
They paused on the landing and Sarah hung her head, cheeks burning red in shame that she hadn’t done more for her family until now. She also hated the fact that in order to secure her family’s future, she was going to have to do so on her back for a man eight years years older than her father. It didn’t occur to her in that moment that it would have otherwise been David getting pimped out with the same goal in mind.

 

Esther greeted them at the door as soon as they walked in, helping them with their coats and reminding them to shush, because Les and Meyer were already asleep.  
“Mama?” Sarah spoke softly, as she followed Esther into the kitchen, David in tow “can we arrange to meet with Dr. Sherway? I have a proposal for him.”

 


	8. Marjana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perspective is everything. Even when there are only two people in a conversation, their perspective will be wildly different.

**Tuesday, December 18, 1900**

 

Irving Hall was a bright place that was always loud, flashy, and smelled pink. There was no other way to describe it other than  _'pink'._ So much so, that when Marjana had first mentioned this revelation to Skittery, he was taken by surprise at how accurate the description was. Even their friend Racetrack had agreed, astounded by the simple accuracy of the word. He had spent many a night in the establishment, unable to quite put his finger on how to sum up the place.

  
_Pink_.

  
She had finally managed to mix the correct shade of paint when Sarah popped her head into the room, momentarily derailing Marjana’s train of thought. She tried to hold to the intense focus, but it quickly dissolved into thin air, the longer Sarah spoke. Dear god, was that woman ever blind to context! Clearly Marjana was busy and yet here she was, prattling on with no point or substance.

  
“I’m sorry…” Sarah said, though clearly she wasn’t. If she were sorry, she wouldn’t have continued to interrupt “... I've just never seen anyone paint like that before”.  
Marjana paused mid-brushstroke. What the hell did _that_ mean? Apparently, Sarah made it a hobby to watch people paint and then scrutinize them for how they did it. Odd girl.

Marjana just wanted to finish her work in peace before joining Skittery downstairs for the evening. Social gatherings made her nervous. To her surprise, Marjana had recently discovered that painting for even a few minutes helped her steel her nerves and face the crowd with some amount of confidence. Now that Sarah interrupted, there wouldn’t be enough time in the world to get her thoughts back in proper order.

 

Of _course_ Sarah had never seen anyone paint the way Marjana did. That was the whole point of the very particular way _she_  painted. Too bad Sarah’s head was too far up her own ass to process things outside of her realm of comprehension. Like art. 

 

“Oh...How do other people paint?” she asked, cocking her head to the side, doing her best to sound polite. Skittery had asked her to play nice with Sarah and the others, who would invade the cellar once a week. Marjana had promised she would behave.

 

“I don’t know. Just not like you, I suppose.” Sarah was smiling softly, probably thinking that she was being friendly and sweet. Marjana twiddled her paintbrush in her hand, very briefly envisioning the kind of violence she could rain down on that pretty head of Sarah’s with the pointy end of it. In a forced moment of good behaviour, Marjana instead set the brush down carefully beside her work.  
“Thank you” she said neutrally enough. Within moments though, she couldn’t  help but pick up the paintbrush and start fidgeting all over again. 

 

To Marjana's relief and ensuring Sarah's safety, Skittery came up very soon after. Marjana saw his shadow moving down the hall before he stepped on that one creaky floorboard close to their room and announced his presence to Sarah. This was why Marjana’s table had been set up the way it was under the window, perpendicular to the wall, giving her a clear view of the door and everything  beyond it. This helped to avoid unintentional surprises, especially from uninvited guests. Present company - a perfect example of the types of surprises Marjana preferred to avoid.

 

When Skittery pushed past Sarah, Marjana dropped her eyes back to her work. Now she was safe to finish. He wouldn't tolerate interruptions.

 

“Poppy, we’re heading downstairs. Ya comin’?” she dabbed on a few finishing touches to her illustration as Skittery made his way over to her. “Sarah bugging you, sweetheart?” his voice was just as soothing as his hand resting on her shoulder. Marjana had told him time and time again, that no matter what her own history was, his touches were always welcome. Thus encouraged, he had finally started gifting her those touches on rare occasions. Each one felt like there was a loaded spring behind it, that he fought hard to keep coiled up and never let loose.

   
“No, I should finish for tonight” she spoke under her breath, painting in a detail here and there. She had meant that she was pretty done with her piece and intended to take a break. She needed it too - her drawing hand was starting to cramp.

  
When his fingers combed through her hair, it sent a shiver up her spine and a heat down her throat into her belly. She didn’t so much as flinch a muscle in reaction to this breach of her personal space, opting to instead focus on her painting, adding the last of the pink detailing to a column on the facade of Irving Hall. The way the column twisted always made her think of bonbons. The kind Skittery used to swipe from the shop on the corner when they were kids.   
“That’s real good” he muttered under his breath. She kept painting even through Skittery’s quiet compliment. Marjana almost missed it, because the sound of her brush on the rough paper was louder than his voice. She stared at the drying streak of pink, keeping her head absolutely still until Skittery was done braiding her hair.  
In those few moments, the whole world faded away and Marjana looked up at him with a soft smile, truly grateful for the attention. He had managed to calm her nerves enough after all.  
“I’ll make tea for everyone” she offered, sounding genuinely content to be going downstairs. He wouldn’t be far from her down there. After all, this was his domain after hours and therefore, hers as well. If the air got too thick with opinions down below, she could always come up to catch her breath among the printing presses in the workroom. Those didn’t have strong opinions, just diligent dedication to their craft.  
  
“Thanks, Poppy” Skittery smiled down at her and brushed a kiss to the top of her head, his hands slipping back to her shoulders and giving them an imperceptible squeeze. The creak of floorboards in the hallway snapped them both out of their moment. Marjana could feel his whole body tense up and his hands stiffen her shoulders. The sound and the touch made her tense up too, causing her to nearly snap the delicate paintbrush in her hand.

“Right…” Skittery cleared his throat, his whole demeanor shifting once again “...let’s get down there.”

  
Skittery had let Sarah and David go on ahead down the stairs. He hung back just long enough to turn and look Marjana over to make sure she was indeed feeling as good as she was making herself seem. “Seems that being nosy runs in their family” he shook his head a little and exhaled a little smirk, one of those that made her stomach flutter. Not that she’d ever tell him he did that to her.  
  
“It’s what they do, them Jacobses…” Marjana shrugged, pretending like they weren’t alone in a darkened stairwell, with nobody watching. She couldn’t hold back a coy smirk of her own as it blossomed in the corner of her mouth.  
  
“...yeah” Skittery smiled too. His smiles were so rare and far between when he was forced to deal with people. They were different for her though, or so Marjana liked to think. These were the smiles he banked throughout the day, saving them for her, she just knew it. This one was fleeting though, slipping off as Skittery looked down the stairs to make sure that the siblings made it down safely. “...gettin’ in the way all the time…”  
  
Marjana touched his shoulder and earned herself another smile from him - the hesitant kind. “...is what it is. Tonight will be good, all the same” she promised as she reached out to pass her fingertips over his cheek. The end-of-day stubble revived a briefly fleeting feeling in her numb hand.  
“Yeah?” his eyelids drooped for a moment as he pressed a hint of a kiss to her wrist.  
“Yeah. I really am doing fine. Let’s get that tea for your friends?” she wondered what it would feel like to touch him more boldly, to slip her fingers into the hair that curled up a little at the back of his neck, to ghost a touch under the collar of his shirt. Instead, she passed her thumb over his cheek and pulled away, encouraging him to lead on.  
  
“You tell me the moment you need to leave, yeah?” He already took one more step down, ready to hurry after his guests.  
“I promise” Marjana was already speaking to the back of his head as they made their way down, stepping around the more creaky spots. She reached out and gripped his shoulder. For safety, of course.  
The look she earned from Skittery for that was confusing. Good, hopefully.

 

As they made it downstairs into the cellar, Skittery's shoulders loosened and his lips curled up in that sly smirk that promised trouble. He was an excellent actor, when he wanted to be.  
“Oy, Specs! Look who Sarah finally dragged in!” Skittery called out, gesturing at the Jacobs siblings. His gaze lingered on Marjana long enough for her to feel it as she slipped past him to make tea for everyone gathered.  
  
She made herself invisible for the rest of the evening. She liked making tea and bringing drinks around to the guests, as long as nobody spoke to her or tried to engage her in conversation beyond basic pleasantries. Most of the regulars knew her well enough by now to understand and respect this rule. Most, except Sarah, who kept trying to catch her eye for the majority of the evening. The girl was driving Marjana up the wall, until she wanted to give Sarah a good, hard shake.  
She’d promised Skittery she'd good though, and she would keep her promise.

 

Marjana even kept this promise when she saw Skittery stroll over to Sarah and drop into a seat beside her. Marjana couldn’t, for the life of her, understand just why he would go out of his way to speak with that girl. Unless he wanted to be put to sleep by her bland troubles. Curiosity drew her closer, until she could hear the majority of Skittery’s observations about Sarah Jacobs. The veritable icing on the cake was the challenge that he tossed out so casually that Sarah was given no choice but to accept. The now bride-to-be turned a such a peculiar shade of red that Marjana just knew she’d had to try and recreate in her drawing. _That_ was the shade Irving Hall was missing to complete the piece - the blush of affronted women of proper upbringing. 

 

Tucking herself into a corner not far from the conversation, Marjana watched Skittery push to his feet, spit a few last bits of vitriol and stalk off toward her. She had to really bite her lip to keep a straight face when she caught a glimpse of that mischievous smirk sweep over his features, when he turned his back to the Jacobs siblings.  
“What did you _do?_ ” Marjana hissed, fighting her own smile, as he found his way to her side. He poured himself some tea from the samovar that was kept in the cellar for these meetings and flashed her another smirk. “She looks like you just crushed her dreams”  
“Yeah, I probably did. If she ever had any” Skittery shrugged and took a swig of his tea. He made a face, even though he tried his best to hide it. “ ‘sh hot…” he stiffled a cough, cleared his throat and set the cup down.  
“Oh...sorry…” Marjana cocked her head, looking up at him, trying to think of a way to fix this. Her impulse told her to be bold and daring. Her impulse spoke up a little too late, though at least this time it and Marjana were on the same page. Before she lost her resolve, her impulse had her up on her toes to kiss his burnt lip. Nobody but him seemed to even notice it happen. It earned her another odd look. One of many that night, it seemed.  
  
When the night got too loud and the walls tipped in too close, Marjana excused herself and went back upstairs. Skittery would have seen her go up - she’d felt his eyes on her all night after the tea incident. If he was mad about that kiss, then he’d have to figure out a way to get over it. She didn't regret it one bit.

 

Back in their room, Marjana moved around in a daze, getting ready to sleep. She would at least _try_   to sleep. She would try and lie still under the covers of their bed and close her eyes.   
She would try to lie _in_ their bed.   
She would try to sleep  _in_  their bed.  
She would try to stay  _in_  their bed.   
The whole night.

As she changed into a sleeping gown, she considered rebraiding her hair for the night. When she touched it though, there was something particularly lovely in how lumpy and uneven it was. Another smile crept across her features, as she absently played with the braid, tugging at individual strands as she stood by the bed, studying the patterns of her purple scarf draped over it. She couldn't help but wonder whether she was reading too much into things between them. Although she'd never allow herself to regret that kiss she'd stolen earlier in the night.  
  
“Hey” His voice rustled behind her, pulling her right back to reality “that was a good meeting”  
Marjana turned to face him, but could see very little in the darkness of their room. The kerosene lamp had been put out and the only light that remained was the soft glow through the grate in their wood stove.  
She reached out to him, trying to find his hand to anchor to in the darkness. Instead, she found his stomach and her fingers froze to the waistband of his trousers. He gave a soft grunt, then saved the moment by taking her hand himself. Perhaps it was a strategic move so that her touch wouldn't tempt them both.  
“Good. I’m glad” she could hear herself speak and scolded herself mentally for sounding like such a bland idiot. Like Sarah. Goddamn Sarah. “Let’s get some sleep. Another long day tomorrow”

 

A few hours before sunrise, Marjana woke up gasping for breath. She couldn’t move her arms or legs, her whole body screaming in protest, while she tried to regain control of the situation. It felt like someone was sitting on her chest, choking her, crushing her lungs. Finally, with some thrashing, she managed to break free from the grip of the nightmare. Whimpering quietly, she slipped out from under the covers, slid down to the floor and searched the cold boards with her hands.  
  
“Bad dream?” Skittery’s voice was thick with sleep about a foot away. She’d been searching for him and accidentally ran her hand right over his face. Once more, his hand found hers and he brought her palm to his lips with a soft murmur of "It's okay. It wasn't real"  
  
She’d told him a few weeks ago, that they could try sleeping in the bed together again. They had attempted a few times, Skittery always keeping his hands to himself. Always the gentleman, that one. Regardless of all their efforts, Marjana always ended up waking in a panic, thrashing about or sneaking out and curling up on the floor under the bed all by herself. To avoid any of that nonsense, Skittery had taken to spreading the spare blanket and pillow on the floor and spending his nights sprawled out there between the bed and the stove.

  
“Yeah…” she paused momentarily, wondering if that had indeed been a kiss he'd just brushed over her palm. She eased her hand out of his and found his chin, his chest, his side and paused where she could feel his ribs even through his shirt “...could I try…?” she shifted on the floorboards, moving closer to him.  Even Skittery’s _breathing_ sounded surprised by the request, but he said nothing. He only put his arm out, inviting her in. She felt along his arm to his shoulder and eased down next to him, pulling the threadbare blanket over them both. This time it felt different, probably because they were on the floor and away from the bed. Marjana tucked herself into his side and draped her arm over his middle, feeling particularly possessive.

  
“Good night, Skitts” she murmured, burying her nose into his shoulder to discover the scent of ink and paper and sweat and soap and home.  
“Good night, Poppy” he exhaled softly in reply.


End file.
